


Mirror Mirror

by Anonymous



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Disney Duck Universe
Genre: Alcohol, BAMF Magica, Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Knives, Lasers, M/M, Magica appears in last chapter, Mirror Universe, Mirrors, Multiple Sex Positions, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, S.H.U.S.H. (Disney), Smoking, Spanking, Witches, more feels than I planned, so earlier tags weren't a lie, so ending is probably a little sadder than expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Darkwing and Negaduck enter each other's universes through an enchanted mirror, but find that their minds have swapped bodies.  Negaduck is eager to wreak havoc, starting with Darkwing's sidekick.  Darkwing, on the other hand, believes he's in a dream.WARNING: Porn with plot(-ish).  The setup and concluding chapters (1,3,6) have plot, but the other chapters contain mostly porn.  Please MIND THE TAGS (Contains Dub-con).
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Launchpad McQuack/Negaduck, Nega-Launchpad/Darkwing Duck, Nega-Launchpad/Negaduck (Disney)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Shine Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on characterizations from the '91 cartoon. All this was created from an indulgent desire for Negaduck/Launchpad and Darkwing/Nega-Launchpad content. Drakepad with a twist.
> 
> Please keep in mind that the events in this are somewhat divergent from the show (the porn obviously is) and I haven't read the comics at all, so facts may just be off, in general.
> 
>  **MAJOR FYI:** While the sex in this fic is consensual, because of Darkwing's and Negaduck's body-swapping and their sidekicks being otherwise unaware of this fact, this counts as **DUBIOUS CONSENT.** Negaduck being Negaduck, he doesn't give a shit, but Drake thinks the whole thing is a long, erotic dream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange mirror has come into the possession of one Lord Negaduck. At first he admires its beauty (and how it might fetch a pretty penny), but then he realizes that it might be cursed. After being presumably killed by the mirror's magic, he finds himself in strange but familiar surroundings, and he's not quite himself....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains plot setup and a bunch of lewd references towards the end, but no explicit sex yet. That said, Negaduck-as-Darkwing does encounter (regular) Launchpad here. They'll get it on in Ch.2 (sorry y'all).

Negaduck wasn’t sure where the stupid mirror had even come from. 

Now, obviously, it was stolen from somewhere—he didn’t buy shit like that. Then again, he didn’t _BUY_ much of anything. Maybe one of his incompetent underlings pinched it from some antique store or some museum, thinking it was worth something. Old shit didn’t always mean good shit, though, the fuckin’ dolts. 

But it certainly looked opulent, with all its golds and detailed frame design, so Negaduck called dibs on it—not that those knobs could do SHIT about it once he’d fled with it to the Negaverse—and ended up keeping it around, partial to the majesty and richness associated with the color gold. Eventually he had his big idiot sidekick put it up in the bedroom, where he could admire it along with his other spoils. At some point or other he figured he’d probably unload it, though, preferring the color _GREEN_ to gold, of course. 

But lately the damn thing made him feel weird. Every time he was in close proximity to it—such as lounging in a drug-induced stupor on his wrecked mattress—he could swear it was making his head hurt. At first, he thought maybe it was just the drugs or maybe a hangover, but his skull felt like it was in a vise even in the rare instance when he was sober. 

_What the fuck. If it wasn’t the damn liquor or drugs, what in the hell was going on?_

Negaduck had heard of cursed mirrors before, but he didn’t really believe in supernatural bullshit— the inherent magical weirdness of the Negaverse aside. But in case it WAS some abracadabra nonsense, he knew of a certain witch bitch who might be in the market for potentially haunted or mystical shit like this. 

What’s more, if he played his cards right, he could rake her over the coals for it. She was a dumbass anyway, relentless in her pursuit of one measly dime—the so-called key to unlocking infinite wealth, _MY ASS_ —so she wouldn’t even notice if he swindled her blind, out of what REALLY mattered—wads and wads of cold hard cash. Sure beat a single coin, the fuckin’ idiot.

_Yeah, that’s what I’ll do tomorrow—swindle a fellow villain. That dumb witch’ll probably fork over some dough for it. I just gotta spend one more night in the same room with the damn thing._

\--

Negaduck had been drifting in and out of sleep and only woke when he rolled over onto a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the heavy glass corners jutting into his side. Groaning, he yawned and uncapped it, throwing back a couple of deep gulps, the liquor burning his throat on the way down. 

_What time even was it?_ There was no way to tell from the light—the sky outside was almost always dark with smog, so daytime and nighttime bled into one another. He cocked his head, listening for movement, but nobody seemed to be around. No annoying little brats cramping his style and no shit-for-brains sidekicks taking up space either. Meh, no matter. 

He glanced over at the corner of the room, where the mirror was propped up against the wall. The shiny surface of the glass was glinting with an eerie light.

_The fuck?_ It had never shone like that before. 

He felt himself shiver, which immediately pissed him off. Why in the shit should Lord Negaduck cower in front of a fucking mirror? Grimacing as he felt the whiskey roiling in his gut, he angrily strode over to the mirror, peering into its depths. 

It was glinting even more insistently, and he sneered as he glared at his own reflection, one that simultaneously enamored him and infuriated him to no end. 

Because no matter what, he’d ALWAYS see not just himself, but that goddamned asshole Darkwing Duck peering back at him.

The mirror shone even brighter, as if to fucking _taunt_ him.

He snarled, and curling his fist, prepared to reduce this stupid fucking mirror—and his reflection—to shards on his rotted floor. He no longer cared about selling it; he only wanted to be RID of it. 

“Time to say goodbye forever, you piece of shit—" he growled, pulling his fist back.

But before he could follow through with his attack, there was a loud roaring in his ears, and in anguish he clapped his hands over them, desperate to be rid of the noise. 

Then in an instant, the mirror blasted the absolute _fuck_ out of him, a white-hot wash of searing light tearing through his middle and engulfing the rest of his body, erasing him in a matter of several excruciating, horrific seconds.

All Negaduck could think as he dying was, _Goddammit. Is this how I finally get taken out?_ He wanted his goody-two-shoes nemesis, Darkwing _Doofus_ to be the one to kill him. 

_Not that the idiotic hero ever COULD, but…fuck, it was such a waste._

\--

Negaduck woke up, his head spinning. _Fucking hell,_ he thought, and then his stomach dropped with embarrassment when he remembered that he had been killed in such a _stupid_ way by a goddamn magic mirror. _Or so he’d thought._ Despite having a fucking laser sear through him, he didn’t hurt anywhere, and he was conscious. 

_But where the hell was he?_ He peered at his surroundings and immediately felt even sicker to his stomach, because this CLEARLY wasn’t his house. 

He was in a clean, pretty—and somehow VERY familiar—kitchen, with an adorable little breakfast nook and a non-destroyed fridge and ickle-wickle lace curtains on the windows and _urrrghhghhh_ —he gagged a few times, the cutesiness of it all making him retch. 

He ran to the sink, and splashed water on his face, startled that what came out of the tap wasn’t black, disgusting water. Then he looked up at the window, and gasped.

He could see his reflection, and he looked just like himself, except somehow _NOT._ He looked just like he imagined Darkwing Dumbass would look too, when he wasn’t in costume. It had been ages since Negaduck had seen himself without his signature black mask, so he had sort of forgotten what his own face looked like, bare to the world like this. Yet he was SURE he had been wearing his mask and the rest of his costume when he had gotten his ass blasted by the mirror, but he seemed to be dressed entirely differently now. 

Scrutinizing himself in the glass, he thought he looked…urgh, better groomed that he usually kept himself. None of his scars or bruises were present, either, he noted, running his hands up and down his face and neck. 

Damn, he was so _pretty_ and _squeaky-clean_ , it was like he’d somehow _become…_

**_Oh fuck, no_. **

He shuddered to even _think_ of it. But on the other hand, he’d thought the mirror had killed him before but it apparently HADN’T, so clearly the damn thing could do a hell of a lot more than your run-of-the-mill, glitzy dumbass decoration. But did it REALLY have the kind of power Negaduck thought it might? To do something like swap bodies and minds? 

_Nah. There’s no damn way—right?_

Negaduck walked past the fridge, which was in exactly the same position as his own wrecked one back in what was normal and familiar—his own house, which was gross as hell. In fact, everything looked the same here as it did back home, save for not being disgusting or destroyed like his own shit was. 

And then he saw a picture on the fridge, and it immediately confirmed to Negaduck who he was. Or who he’d _become._

The picture showed the same handsome but dopey, squeaky-clean shrimp that he’d seen seconds ago in the window glass, smiling away like a fucking idiot. But the presence of two redheads standing next to him—an all-too-familiar dumbass pilot sidekick and an instantly-recognizable, annoying little girl—proved beyond any doubt that this sweet little slice of suburbia indeed WAS Darkwing’s house, and those idiots WERE Darkwing’s family. 

And as fucked as all that was, what was even more disturbing was the chilling realization that right now, he really was none other than _Darkwing himself._

_Or, more **accurately** — _

While it wasn’t a name he’d thought of in years, he’d stepped right into the body of a _verrrrrry_ different—

_Drake Mallard._

Negaduck always thought he and Darkwing were two sides of a coin, basically identical, but he never imagined they’d be so similar as to all _this._ Certainly not down to the intricate detail of having an identical house in the suburbs—only his was the destroyed version, rotting in a horrific hellscape. Negaduck could only assume that the power of that cursed mirror must have switched them somehow. 

_If true, then that opened up some delicious opportunities for Negaduck to wreak some havoc, now didn’t it?_

He grinned darkly, imagining the possibilities. But being in a different body—similar enough as it was—was new territory for Negaduck. There’s no telling what else changed in the switch, so he decided he would, ahem, test a few things around here first. Make sure that’s what happened—that he had somehow ended up in the pretty, non-scarred, non-addicted little body of his most hated nemesis. 

_We’ll start small,_ he thought, and since he’d already examined his pristine face and neck, resumed his scrutinizing of what he assumed was Darkwing’s body. That he was now _somehow_ occupying.

Eager to confirm his theory, Negaduck first peered down at his—err, _Darkwing’s_ —hands. As he’d expected of the dumb little shit, the cuticles were all clean and the nails were strangely perfectly filed, with none of the nails broken—or _gone_ —and not a speck of dirt or blood. And the skin felt all gross and soft, and smelled faintly of something…grr, _nice,_ like scented lotion. 

_Was that fucking STRAWBERRY?!_

_What a freakin’ priss,_ he scowled, as he took in how lovely and perfect his feathers, skin and nails looked, smelled—everything. _Give me the stench of blood and gasoline any day. And dirty ashtray was pretty good too…And ooh, garbage…_

Then he saw his attire and groaned. What in the hell was he— _Darkwing_ —wearing? A PINK shirt? By now it was CLEAR that this could _only_ be Darkwing. The pale, sweet, oh-so-pretty color was burning him with how goody-two shoes and… _feminine_ it was. Jesus H. Christ. Also, was he wearing it with a SWEATER VEST? If he was trying to channel 90’s Dad with _atrocious_ taste, then he was totally nailing it. 

It was hilarious and just _adorable_ how Darkwing—or _HA! should he say ‘Drake’?_ —was apparently STILL trying to have these two separate personas. He was such a dumbass. One day, just like him, he’d finally realize how pointless it was, and just choose to always be the better half. For Negaduck, the choice had been obvious, but for _this_ airhead…

_Urrrghh, fuck_. The oh-so-clean and pretty sights and smells of this house—and Darkwing’s stupid body—were starting to give him a headache. Why couldn’t there be just a _little bit_ of the grime, filth and horrific stench of his own, wonderfully wrecked house? He stormed through the living room and out the door, hoping against hope— _even though by now he knew better_ —that the greater world outside was still the familiar, swirling hellscape of St. Canard. _HIS St. Canard._

But again, as he’d suspected, no such luck—this definitely wasn’t the Negaverse. Birds were cheerily chirping and the air was so clean he was choking. _FUCK!_ He squeezed his fingers around his neck as hard as he could, hoping he could somehow finish the mirror’s shoddy attempt at offing him— _and BONUS—he’d kill Darkwing too_ —and be rid of this miserable scene. But then he saw something glorious:

Garbage cans, out at the curb, filled to the brim with disgusting, fly-topped filth. 

_Yessssssssss._

He ran towards them at breakneck speed and pressed his face inside one of the cans. _Mmmm. Yes, this was more like home._ He took a deep breath, absorbing all the delicious rotten food smells and the rank, acrid perfumes of literal shit.

“Uh…DW?” He looked up, banana peel stuck to his beak, and saw that goofy sidekick of Darkwing’s, striding towards him.

_Fuck._

The guy was dumb as a brick, but Negaduck was painfully aware that his fist also felt like one, so he knew he’d better be careful. He quickly flicked off the deliciously rotten banana peel. Little Miss Priss ‘Drakey’ wouldn’t be caught dead swimming in garbage, after all.

“Oh…uh, hi…LP,” he stammered, instantly hating how fucking _high_ his voice was and struggling to say the dreaded nickname of the pilot. Sure, he sometimes, rarely, called his own sidekick that, but only in a VERY specific context, not one he liked to discuss, really…

“What’re ya doin’? Lose somethin’ in the trash?” The lovable doof was towering over him, peering down at him inquisitively. His look was so cheerful Negaduck wanted to vomit. 

“Uhh, I thought so, but I guess it’s still in the house,” he muttered lamely. _Leave me to my garbage, you fuck._

“Want me to help ya look for it?” Darkwing’s sidekick laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. Negaduck was two seconds from violently shrugging it off and decking the guy for _DARING_ to touch him.

But he abruptly stopped himself. 

The hand on his shoulder was drenched in car grease, and was deliciously dirtying up Darkwing’s stupid outfit, so, smirking a bit to himself, he allowed the big slimy hand to stay perched there. He then noticed that it wasn’t just the pilot’s _hands_ that were covered in grease—the pilot’s whole body had splotches of it all over him, and he smelled mouthwateringly sweaty. _Mmmm_ , and maybe even a little stinky. Negaduck couldn’t help but grit his teeth, suddenly feeling every bit as excited as he was about the garbage—thankful for even this little hint of filth in this otherwise pristine world. 

_Huh,_ he thought, raking his eyes up and down the muscular lines of the dirty, sweaty sidekick’s huge body. _Maybe this big idiot was even kinda hot._

_Like, uhh, **objectively.** _

The big dumb idiot finally seemed to notice how he was getting grease all over his hero and pulled his hand away sharply. “Aw damn, DW, I’m sorry! I know ya hate gettin’ dirty…” 

_Of course_ the squeaky-clean Darkwing hated getting dirty. Negaduck _LOVED_ it. In every _sick_ sense of the word.

He loved it so much in fact that he pulled the big dumb-dumb’s dirty hand back, and rubbed it all over his front, getting grease everywhere. All over his chest and belly, and he even ran it over his thighs too, messing up the oh-so-perfect plumage. Now Darkwing’s stupid ensemble was completely dirty and his feathers were all greasy, too. Relishing his handiwork— _heh, well, it was ACTUALLY more like the sidekick’s_ —he gave the tall bastard a toothy grin. 

_Look at the state of your dumbass hero now. Oh dear, what a mess you’ve become, Darkwing!_

Darkwing’s sidekick just stared down at him, all wide-eyed and stupid. 

Then Negaduck felt a weird flip-flopping twinge in his belly because the big doofus was, all of a sudden, furiously _blushing_ at him like a damn fool, looking like he’d been standing out in this cheery, godforsaken sun too long. 

_Uhhh…the **fuck?** Was Darkwing covered in grime a KINK for this guy? How pedestrian. If it was blood, he could understand, but grease?_

Then he considered another possibility: probably the big idiot didn’t get WHY he was trying to mess up Darkwing’s outfit, since Negaduck literally _WAS_ Darkwing, at least at the moment. 

**_Oops._** Negaduck sort of… _forgot that._

_Well, shit. Then that meant, maybe the big doof thought he was… **flirting** with him. _

_Oh, fuck._ Negaduck cringed, feeling his face get hot. _Awkward…_

It seemed he was right about the err, _flirting_ thing, because something strange came over the sidekick’s features, and suddenly Negaduck felt the big dummy’s huge, thick fingers sensually carding through his sensitive tail feathers, sending a teasing, skin-prickling heat shooting up his spine. Then the guy DARED to give one of his ass cheeks a rough squeeze, which left it sticky and wet with the slick of the car grease. Negaduck felt his eyes cross and a sensuous heat start to melt between his thighs. 

But that was NOT because any of that… _mmm_ …felt _good,_ or anything!

Even as he felt his face and groin burning, Negaduck was fucking PISSED. _Oh, you piece of shit, you did NOT just_ —Instinctively, he gathered his fingers into the familiar gesture of a punch, ready to bust his knuckles open on this goddamned asshole.

But the low, silky tones of the dopey guy’s rumbling voice stopped him fucking _dead._

“If ya wanna play like that, I could make an even bigger mess of ya if ya want, DW…” The sidekick had bent down and was whispering in his ear, his voice so sultry and hot it was tickling the feathers on his neck and tickling something _else_ between his legs. And before Negaduck could react—with his fists flying—Darkwing’s sidekick was ambling back down the driveway, shooting him a wink over his shoulder, his muscular ass swaying. 

Negaduck gulped. _Th-the…fuck?_ Somehow, he couldn’t peel his eyes away. The slow, languid circles the sidekick’s tight, sexy ass was making as he walked away, hidden tail feathers pushing up a bit through the seat of his pilot pants, the impossibly thick lines of his athletic legs, those broad, muscular shoulders— _damn,_ he could probably put that strong back to _WORK_ while he gave you a _good pounding_ —his whole glorious body was goddamn _mesmerizing._

_Hol-y shit._ Was Darkwing somehow still in control? Because Negaduck was _DROOLING,_ and he DIDN’T drool, _goddammit._ Certainly not over goody-two-shoes idiots like that. His fingers slowly uncurled as he stared, mouth gaping. 

Then with a last scorching look that involuntarily made Negaduck’s face burn even hotter, the big guy disappeared into the house. Maybe he was waiting for him— _err, Drake_ —to come inside. 

Heh. _Come._

With some amusement, Negaduck wiped the saliva from his chin. _Well, we learned something today, didn’t we?_

Apparently, Darkwing and his sidekick were _fucking._

That shouldn’t have surprised him, really, since he and his own version of Launchpad… _well._ They fought literally tooth and nail but fucked like goddamn rabbits on Viagra. Sometimes both, at the same time. Hell, it was _better_ when it was both. Hot, wild, violent fucking with oodles of blood, ripped out feathers, a broken bone or two. And hot, juicy spend everywhere. Then after their combination bang n’ brawl, the big guy would light Negaduck’s cigarette with the end of his own, and the room, reeking of the raw fumes of sex and blood, would fill with curls of smoke as they panted out their exhaustion between hot drags. Then they’d fuck again, shouting obscenities at each other as they went at it. 

Negaduck wiped at his eye at the tantalizing thought. _Look at him, gettin’ all sentimental…_

He jolted back to reality because his ass was STILL tingling from where Darkwing’s own big idiotic sidekick had fondled him. He rubbed at his behind, scowling at the grease on his hands. _The nerve of that piece of shit, touching him like that._ But Negaduck was smirking as he thought about those big dirty hands and couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of the huge fucking idiot. Especially what was between those thick legs of his. 

Well, it might suck to be stuck in Darkwing’s body, but HEY, on the bright side, while in this body, it looked like he could EASILY get a piece of that angel’s food cake if he wanted it. Find out what was under that heavy pilot getup and how it might compare to his own Launchpad. And even better, he’d know _exactly_ how Darkwing liked to get fucked. 

Sure, it might be better to try to take over the town as St. Canard’s erstwhile hero or something more grand-scale, but why not cause a little chaos starting right in Darkwing’s perfect little home? If he screwed with Darkwing’s home life—by, HA! literally screwing his sidekick—it’d surely be yet another thing he could gleefully hang over his stupid doppleganger’s head, whenever they finally switched back. It’d be so fun to taunt him with such embarrassingly intimate details— _Mmm, tell me, how good does ‘LP’s’ cock feel pounding your ass every night, DARKWING? Ooh, ooh, I think I knooowww—_ as he tortured the little shit.

_Hmm, this whole situation gave a whole new meaning to mind-fuck, didn’t it? HA!_

Negaduck already had an idea about what position Darkwing probably liked—the selfish bastard— _but ya know, it takes one to know one_ , so he knew if he followed that idiot inside, that meant a very sore ass for yours truly. Eh, he hoped that at the very least, Darkwing didn’t prefer to just be on his back like a bitch the whole time. So boring and vanilla. Their fucking was probably all disgustingly sweet, with no biting or clawing at all. And no blood. The big guy was probably all thoughtful and— _gross!_ —considerate and never went in dry, either. They probably made big goo-goo eyes at each other and then oh-so-sweetly ‘made love.’ 

_Bleh. Making love? More like MAKING ME SICK._ Negaduck rolled his eyes at the thought. _How fucking lame._

But his face and his crotch started to burn as his thoughts kept returning to the dumb pilot’s hot stare and that sweaty, muscular body, covered in grease. He wasn’t the dirty, rough, cigar-smoking shit-for-brains he had waiting to fuck him at home, but…he sort of wanted a taste of this goody-two-shoes. Maybe that was Darkwing taking over again, the thirsty little slut _._ Or maybe, Negaduck just wanted take a walk on the tame side. See how his other, stupider half lives. Or in this case, _fucks._

Negaduck broke out in an evil grin. _Hell, sometimes you get a craving for vanilla ice cream,_ he thought, and followed the big dumb sidekick inside. 

_Not that he liked ice cream…but **hey.** _


	2. Shine Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negaduck (in the body of Darkwing) follows Darkwing's sidekick inside the house, eager to get a piece of the goody-two shoes. Predictably, sex happens, but not all of it is exactly what Negaduck expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negaduck doth protest too much. Seriously.

Negaduck strode through the front door, shutting it with a bang. At first glance, the big idiot didn’t seem to be around anywhere. He didn’t see Darkwing’s little brat around either, thank fuck. Maybe she was at school, or some other such shit. It’d be bad to get caught fucking in front of some toddler. It’d be amusing, sure, but being around brats in general…err, it just wasn’t really his style.

_Not that he had any choice in the matter with his own brat,_ he thought, cringing a bit as a certain sweet, pink-clad little girl came to mind. _Urghhhhh._

Negaduck glanced around the empty living room, cringing at the couch. Was that a fucking DOILY on top of it? What the hell? _It might be time to do some redecorating,_ he thought. Where did “DW” keep the knives? 

But before he could finish planning the most efficient way to rip up the upholstery, with a loud _WHAM,_ Negaduck suddenly felt himself being roughly slammed up against the wall. His back and ass stung as they hit, and he groaned at the sudden attack.

Of course, it was Darkwing’s big sidekick, pressing himself up against him, his lumbering frame a little suffocating. A picture frame somewhere clattered to the floor. 

_Huh,_ Negaduck thought, his cold dead heart beating a little faster, especially at the thought of his air being cut off. _Maybe Drakey liked it a little rougher than he thought._

The big idiot was kissing him, and he didn’t taste a thing like liquor or cigarettes—or sometimes coffee or even _fucking blood_ —like his Launchpad did. As he returned the rough kisses and licked inside the big doof’s mouth, he rolled his eyes because of COURSE, the sidekick tasted sweet, like soda pop. 

_Was that…Pep? Jesus Fucking Christ._ Negaduck didn’t _DO_ soda pop. 

_Well, I could change the taste easily enough,_ he thought darkly, and bit down HARD on the big guy’s lip, drawing blood. The delicious iron taste of blood flooding his mouth was perfect, and he lapped it up eagerly between rough, ragged kisses, which were really more like softer bites.

“Ouch! W-what are ya doin’, DW?” The big dummy pulled away, his eyes narrowing down at his tiny attacker as his broken lip bled. “Yer bein’ a little rough.” 

_Yeah, no kiddin’, you fucking idiot._

“Oh, I can get a hell of a lot rougher, LP,” he growled, but was instantly disappointed to find that even when he was trying to be intimidating, his voice was still in Darkwing’s stupid higher tone. Even so, Launchpad looked startled, his dopey eyes wide, but then he did something Negaduck didn’t expect.

He suddenly gripped him _HARD_ around his upper arms, his long, thick fingers sharply digging into the dumb pink fabric of Drake’s shirt. Negaduck felt a jolt of excitement at how he couldn’t move his arms at all, and how he could feel his blood pulsing around the sharp vise-like grip of those strong, meaty hands. Ooh, fuck, if he’d just squeeze a little harder, he could cut off the circulation completely, and then it’d feel _REALLY_ good.

But what was more intriguing was how the big guy’s eyes were narrowing down at him again, and there was a flash of something dangerous there. _A warning._ A warning look that melted into a sultry stare so blisteringly hot Negaduck didn’t think the cheerful, sunshiny dumbass was capable of it. 

_What in the hell was this? Something kinky?_ Negaduck licked his lips. He was _really_ interested now.

The sidekick’s face was half in shadow, and Negaduck felt himself shiver under that looming gaze. Suddenly he was reminded of his own sidekick’s half-lusty, half-murderous stare. 

“If yer lookin’ to get a little rough, I got somethin’ perfect for ya, DRAKE.” 

_Oh boy, let me guess. Was he threatening him with a good “helpin’” of cock? Oh puh-lease._ That was so generic. 

But that voice was so dark and teasy, Negaduck’s crotch was just _burning._

_Ahem, well._ Negaduck would take whatever the big idiot was dishing out, if he was offering it. He was _horny,_ what could he say. He had spread his legs for a hell of a lot worse.

“Oh yeah? And what might that be, LAUNCHPAD?” He challenged the big idiot right back.

“Oh, I think ya know…it’s somethin’ that _SOMEBODY_ just can’t get enough of…” He whispered in Negaduck’s ear, and Negaduck felt his ass being fondled again, the big fingers rubbing over his tail and grabbing a big handful of the soft flesh, sending shivers up his back. 

_Damn, this guy really likes Darkwing’s ass. Well,_ he thought, sneering to himself, _both yours truly and Darkwing are sporting some pretty damn nice merchandise, so I can’t really blame the guy._

“What might that _‘somethin’’_ be, huh? _‘Somethin’’_ like this…?” Mocking the big guy’s drawl, Negaduck used his now free hand to cup the sidekick’s crotch, which was swelling and hot under his palm. 

He immediately gulped hard, realizing with just a quick fondle that Darkwing’s sidekick was fucking _HUGE._ _Wellllllll then,_ it looked like that not-so-little part of him was every bit the same as his own version of Launchpad.

“Mmm, not exactly, DW,” the big guy was purring, and now raking his teeth along Negaduck’s neck. If only he’d bite down, draw a little blood, this would be really hot. Sadly, he didn’t, though, but he _was_ yanking on Darkwing’s tail in such a way that Negaduck could feel the sharp pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. 

_Hell yeah, just fuckin’ PLUCK me,_ Negaduck silently urged him, feeling himself start to drool again. But the idiot didn’t pull any feathers out, and having stopped his sharp yanking, was now just sweetly petting him, his stinging tail just tingling under the soft caress. 

_Yuck._

But DAMN this body, because it was getting hotter and hotter, even at _THAT._ Must be Darkwing taking over again, the prissy little bitch. _Negaduck_ didn’t like sweet caresses or kisses or any of that shit, _goddammit._

Negaduck grasped at Launchpad’s hand on his ass and squeezed it so that he was making that big hand rake harshly over his flesh. “How ‘bout you HURRY UP and give me some of that rough somethin’, huh? I’m getting tired of waiting.” The big dummy’s eyes widened, and instantly clouded over with lust at his—well, Darkwing’s—enthusiasm.

Negaduck wasn’t sure what this mysterious “somethin’” was, but he was eager to find out. What kind of kinks could Darkwing _possibly_ have?

“Aww, I dunno, DW…not sure ya’ve really earned it yet.” The big idiot was teasingly _SNEERING_ down at him. _Oooh, the nerve of this asshole,_ Negaduck thought excitedly.

“What do I gotta do to earn it, then, big guy? Something like this?” And he reached forward and squeezed the big dummy’s crotch. A little _TOO HARD._ It probably hurt, which Negaduck MEANT it to.

Launchpad groaned, and gritting his teeth, glared down at Negaduck. There was a sudden, ominous energy radiating off of him, and it reminded of how fucking scary his own version of this dumbass could be in the right context. 

_That was more like it._

“Yeah, fuck me up, you big cinnamon roll. Doubt ya can even do it,” he sneered, and stuck his beak up in the air with all of the arrogance of a certain suburban, posh little prick.

The big guy looked amused and even a teensy bit predatory. “ _Oh?_ Did ya forget last time already, DW? I musta not given it to ya _hard enough.”_

“I _DARE_ you to even _TRY_ to give it to me half as hard, you big fucking _WIMP,”_ he spat, turning away, and— just in case what the big idiot was dishing out WAS a good, tasty helping of some fat, juicy cock—he made sure his ass was teasingly hiked up in the air, ripe for the taking. He glared over his shoulder up at the sidekick, waiting for the big dummy to make a move.

_It was fun to test this Launchpad’s boundaries, because if he had said any of this shit to HIS Launchpad, well, his ass would have been busted wide open a long time ago. His Launchpad didn’t really ‘do’ foreplay._

“Heh, yer talkin’ real dirty today, DW…what’s gotten into ya?” The big guy shot him a teasing half-grin, his eyes smoky.

“I dunno, I guess I’m just not feeling _MYSELF_ today,” Negaduck murmured, almost to himself, entertained by the fact that for once, he _wasn’t_ being a Huge Fucking Liar.

“Well, what DO ya feel like, then?” The big guy’s hands were all over him again, squeezing him and raking down his sides. Negaduck whirled around again, annoyed that Darkwing’s sidekick didn’t take the tasty bait that was his vulnerable, upturned rear.

“I feel like I want you to _STOP FUCKING AROUND_ ,” he growled, digging his perfect nails into the big idiot’s wandering hands, rejoicing in hearing that even Darkwing’s higher pitched voice could sound sultry and ominous when he put his all into it. 

The big idiot gritted his teeth, probably feeling the sting of Darkwing’s sissy little nails. “Mmm, okay...sounds like ya _really_ want some, so now yer gonna get it, just like ya asked for, DW…” 

“It’s about FUCKING TIME,” Negaduck sneered, and immediately there was a delicious, dangerous flash of the sidekick’s eyes that made Negaduck’s knees quiver as they shot through him. 

_Oh, Darkwing, you sweet little shrinking flower. Stand your ground, you little shit,_ he thought angrily as he involuntarily shivered in the big guy’s looming shadow. 

But then he found he couldn’t stand AT ALL when suddenly, both of them were on the floor, the big dummy yanking him down on top of him. 

_What, were they gonna fuck down here on the carpet? Maybe get a few rug burns as they humped in front of the couch? That was a little feisty, but still so goddamn_ _domestic,_ he scoffed inwardly. _Oh **dear,** they'd better close the curtains first. Don't want the neighbors to see 'Drake' get his ass pounded into next week, now do we?_

That didn’t seem to be where this was going, though, because then Negaduck felt one of the dopey sidekick’s hands flip him over as easily as a pancake— _these fucknuts probably ate that sickening shit frequently_ —and he found himself staring at the too-clean carpet, spread neatly across the idiot’s lap, his arms tightly pinned behind his back. 

_Wait…._

A drop of cold, nervous sweat slid down his back and dripped off the end of his tail. He was suddenly aware of how his ass was just stuck up in the air. _Vulnerable. Exposed._

_But the big guy wasn’t in a position to fuck him…_

_This was—_

**_?!_ **

But before he could think about ANYTHING any further, the next thing he knew, one of the big guy’s huge hands was _SEARING_ across his bare ass, smacking his cheeks so sharply he let out a loud, startled gasp. 

“Unnnnhh!” Negaduck squealed. 

He, Lord Negaduck, _FUCKING **SQUEALED**_ **.**

_S-SHIT!_ Shamed to his rotten core, Negaduck’s face immediately broke out into a furious blush that burned red-hot all the way down to his little smacked ass.

But despite his intense embarrassment, the second Darkwing’s sidekick made that brutal contact, Negaduck couldn’t help but just _relish_ how the blistering sensation of the smack to his ass just ripped up his spine. It tingled and burned and made his whole body flush. And it wasn’t just one delicious slap—the sidekick just kept on spanking him, rocking his body over his lap. 

It was rhythmic, _fast,_ **_hot._** Almost like fucking. His glowing ass was getting almost as much abuse as it would getting _fucked_ as it did bouncing under that big meaty palm.

Negaduck squeezed his legs together, the pain just blazing on his rear starting to make him deliciously hot in the front, too. _Oooh, fuck yeah…_

Then Negaduck heard somebody moan like a horny little bitch in heat and his face and neck burned even hotter with shame when he realized, **_FUCK_ ,** those needy mewls were coming from his own mouth. _Well,_ **_Darkwing’s_** _. It wasn’t HIM, goddammit._

Apparently, he wasn’t the only horny one, though, because Negaduck could feel a massive bulge pressing into his belly, and again he involuntarily shivered. _This fucker really WAS goddamn huge._ He felt his mouth fill up with saliva as the big guy’s long, swollen cock insistently rubbed his front, the pants fabric rhythmically sliding across Darkwing’s goofy sweater. If only that thick, probably _soaking wet_ tip was rubbing up in between his legs instead…Negaduck had somewhere nice, hot and tight that the big idiot could _STICK IT._

By this point, his own arousal had slipped out between his thighs. He was dripping wet, and his dick was rubbing and pressing against the big guy’s muscular thigh. With every thick slap to his ass, he got hotter and _harder_ and started wishing the big idiot would flip him right side up again and just let him rip those stupid pants down and ride that hot, juicy meat that kept teasing and rubbing his belly.

_Hmm. Well._ As his ass got smacked, Negaduck considered his most hated rival’s little kink, after several more wanton moans and breathy, horny sighs escaped this perverted mouth of his.

_Soooo, Drakey-wakey liked to get spanked, then. How embarrassing was that?_ He sneered inwardly, even as the sidekick’s swats made him squeak and wail and want to wildly rut against the pilot’s big legs. It made sense, for Darkwing to be such a slut for having his sidekick spank him like a naughty little baby. Have his monstrous ego brought down a peg or twelve, mewling like a bitch while his inferior’s hot hands burned his ass up. This was some delicious information that he could hang over his nemesis’s head _for sure._

_Meh, as far as kinks go, it was still HILARIOUSLY pedestrian, but knowing Darkwing, he probably would just DIE—maybe even literally—if someone knew about it_ , he smirked ominously to himself. He just needed to figure out a way to blast that information all over town. 

_A giant megaphone? Hijack the news bulletin for a THIS JUST IN?_ Hell, since he WAS Darkwing right now, maybe he could just tearfully confess—preferably on live television—that he, St. Canard’s hero, was a slutty little freak? _I could make it even MORE interesting by adding some lies too,_ he thought excitedly _, like maybe Darkwing had a diaper fetish, or maybe he was also into, I dunno, **FEET?** HA!_

He was jolted out of his evil plotting when one or two rough smacks grazed up under his tail, and Negaduck swore as one of the big dummy’s digits slid across his asshole, stretching it slightly as it raked across it. For a second, he wished Launchpad would’ve slipped him some of those fingers properly. As in, two or three, _knuckle deep._

“Ooh,” he growled, his face burning, but it sounded like a whimper. That teasing _motherfucker._

By now, the constant hot, thick spanks weren't just burning up his ass —his crotch felt like it was about to _melt,_ it was so fucking hot. _Maybe ittle-wittle Drakey wasn’t so wrong about this whole spanking thing…_

As his ass stung worse and worse, his breath hitching at each tasty swat, Negaduck thought, _Okay, okay. Not bad. Still a little vanilla, but definitely not as plain-yogurt as he’d expected._ Of course, Negaduck would prefer a belt or maybe even a weapon—a gun, or maybe a literal _WHIP_ —of some sort whipping him, making him bleed along with the spanks, but he’d take what he could get here. He started humping the big guy’s leg, because by this point, he was so hard his dripping dick was starting to sting just as hot as his ass, and _HOLY FUCK,_ he needed some kind of relief.

“Nuh uh, none of that, DW,” the dumbass admonished him in dark tones above him. “That’s real naughty.” And he blistered his quivering ass some more. Negaduck felt some drool dripping from his mouth onto the carpet as he continued to get rocked across the big guy’s lap. This was getting closer and closer to torture. And the more it did, the more Negaduck was liking it. The stinging, swollen skin on his ass was glowing with pain, and he was losing himself in the sharp sensations. 

It wasn’t as nice as being slashed with nails or pricked at with knives, but _hey, not bad._ Dammit, if he could just reach his cock, he could beat off while Darkwing’s sidekick was doing this to him, but the dumbass was mercilessly pinning his arms behind his back and spanking him harder when he desperately tried to rut against him. 

After a few agonizing minutes, the big guy finally paused his torturous spanking, and Negaduck felt a little disappointed. He kinda wanted him to drag it out even longer. Push him to the point where his cock felt like it was about to explode, and at the slightest touch he’d spurt hot cum all over those bulging pilot pants.

“Maybe yer ready for a reward, now, DW…” Negaduck felt himself being very carefully picked up, the tenderness of which pissed him off, but then he was deposited roughly on the couch, his blistered ass searing with pain as he was plopped down on the rough fabric. His ass burned so hot he fucking _SQUEALED._

_AGAIN._

_Oh, FUCK no, he did **not** just make that noise. Err…that was all Darkwing!_ _It did hurt pretty good,_ though, he thought, his tongue lolling out at that wonderful, painful sensation.

Then suddenly, with a loud slurping sound, there was a brand-new sensation of a VERY different kind, because Darkwing’s sidekick was now hungrily deepthroating his dick, his big wet tongue swirling around his length, bobbing his huge dopey head between his spread thighs. 

_Okay, now THIS was more like it._ A sidekick SHOULD be blowing his hero, after all. Made sense in the order of things. 

_Ooh, it felt like this sidekick had plenty of practice, too,_ Negaduck thought, his eyes crossing a little as he listened to the loud wet sucks and slurps coming from his lap. Heh, he always knew the big idiot was a cocksucker. But he had to hand it to Darkwing. That way his sidekick was licking the underside was some Grade A shit. Old “DW” knew how to pick ‘em, apparently. But _of course_ he would—after all, _his_ Launchpad was ridiculously good at blowjobs, too. He could feel his eyelids fluttering as he felt that hot wet mouth hugging his shaft, sliding up and down so slick and slippery, tongue swirling over the tip, teasing the slit… _Fuck._

After a few pleasurable moments of this, Launchpad pulled off his cock for a second, letting the spit drip from his panting mouth and drizzle back down onto Negaduck’s length, like viscous wet drops of syrup. He was staring up at him, and Negaduck could see himself reflected in his shiny eyes—his reflection, of course, was Darkwing in his civilian form, blushing and ruffled and overall looking like a complete slut. _Typical._ Then the sidekick grasped Negaduck’s pulsing, wet erection, and with the precum and copious spit acting as lube, he started jerking him up and down. _Mmm…having every inch of him in the big guy’s hand felt pretty fucking good._ Negaduck felt some of the liquid squishing between the pilot’s fingers sliding down, trickling over his entrance, slicking it.

The big idiot’s other hand then reached between Negaduck’s spread thighs up under his tail, and two big fingers started circling his now slick hole. Eh, it was all wet already, so he probably wouldn’t feel a thing, even if he jammed three fingers in. _How boring._ Negaduck liked it _waaaay_ rougher than this. 

_Time to cut to the chase,_ he thought, before the big dope had the chance to lube him up any more than this. Or heaven forbid, finger him loose before he could get a taste of how fucking tasty that girthy cock would feel tearing his ass open.

“Just fuck me, you big idiot,” he said as the big guy’s fingers tentatively tickled over his asshole. “Rip me open with that big fat cock.” 

Negaduck needed to _FEEL_ it. Feel that blistering hot burn. 

Darkwing’s sidekick went all wide-eyed again and was now blushing like a schoolgirl who'd been told a dirty little secret. _Oh my fucking God. What a sweet boy._ It was making him sick. His own Launchpad would have busted his ass open over the armrest of the couch by now, tearing him and everything else apart. 

_It looked like it was time for him to take charge._

He roughly shoved against the big dummy’s shoulders, pushing him onto his back on the carpeted floor. The giant fell over with a groan, but from the way his cock was pressing up like a hot spear through his pants, he was CLEARLY looking forward to whatever Negaduck— _or, as far as he knew, Darkwing_ —could dish out.

Ravenous with lust, Negaduck unzipped the pilot’s pants, and roughly ripped them down to the middle of his thighs so fast he heard a seam pop. The sidekick's fat cock, dripping wet with his own slick, was every bit as large as his own Launchpad’s. _Hell yes. This would hurt real good,_ he thought, straddling the big idiot.

Under him, the dopey pilot sounded worried. “Uh, DW? Don’tcha need any—?” But Negaduck cut him off.

“Nope!” And he swiftly sank onto that big juicy length, taking every inch, relishing that hot, searing burn as the pilot’s cock, lubed only with precum, speared raw into his spit-slicked but unprepped ass. He felt the tearing at the entrance of his hole, that fat girth ripping his flesh as it penetrated him _soo_ fucking deep. 

_God damn, this fucking **HURT.**_

But he was grinning, that hot pain making his dick pulse just as much as it was when the dummy was so skillfully blowing him a few moments before. In about three devastating seconds, he’d taken all of Launchpad’s big fat erection, and the searing, painful spread of his asshole around that impossibly thick cock felt so, so _gooooood._ The big dope’s huge dick was buried so deep the bastard was probably pushing Negaduck’s guts flat against his ribcage. It certainly _hurt_ like it was. The pain was burning from his asshole all the way up his spine, and he could feel sizzling little tingles at the base of his neck, too. This was the kind of cock that fucked you so deep you could feel it along every goddamn nerve. Hell, his _TOES_ were curling and his salivating mouth was twitching already and Negaduck hadn’t even started riding the big idiot yet.

He felt a slight trickle, and knew that his asshole was bleeding, although it wasn’t nearly as much as he’d thought. All the precum and spit had eased the passage more than he’d hoped it would. _Oh well._ Now the bit of blood would mix with all of it and would make it all ‘nice’ and slippery. Negaduck rolled his eyes as he started to hump, sliding up and down the big dummy’s sopping wet length. He really preferred it rough and raw.

_Come now, Negsy, remember, this is vanilla sex,_ he reminded himself. _All white and pure._ Makes sense that it wouldn’t involve much of anything _RED._

Then a soft moan escaped his throat when he sat _alllll_ the way down again and he felt the sidekick’s cock rub naughtily up against his sweet spot on the sink in. _Then again, getting off is getting off, though_ , he thought _._ And so, he started bouncing on that cock so fast and hard he thought he might give the pilot a heart attack. 

_Helluva way to die,_ Negaduck smirked to himself, riding the idiot with such roughness it was clear he had every intention of _making_ him. The big idiot was so blushy and sweaty and kept crying out “D-damn, DW! Aww shit!” with every fast, juicy hot slide and furious slap of his bouncing, spread cheeks. _What a good, sweet boy_. _Making this dumbass cum a HUGE load inside him would be such a piece of cake._ And when that hard, thick cock would spear up inside him, dragging across that sensitive bundle of nerves in his ass, Negaduck got closer and closer to blowing his hot, sticky load too.

After several minutes of riding him hard enough to make the fucking floorboards creak loudly even through the carpet, for some goddamn reason, the big dummy STILL wasn’t wearing down. _What, was his tight, hot asshole somehow not STIMULATING enough?_ Negaduck scowled, flushed and panting from all the strenuous bouncing and drooling from how good that cock felt pounding impossibly deep in his ass. _Was the little fuck showing off how much stamina he had? Go ahead and blow your fucking load, you shit._

Because Negaduck knew if he rode him too much longer, that hot, thick cock pounding the _fuck_ out of his prostate would feel _waaay_ too damn good, and he didn’t want to lose in an endurance contest against this dipshit.

Launchpad grasped at Negaduck’s rolling hips and held them down with an irritatingly gentle touch. Pissed, Negaduck glared down at him, but given how the sweat was running down his face and his chest was heaving, he, uh, couldn’t really deny he felt somewhat relieved for the pause. 

_Errr…Darkwing’s body just didn’t have as much stamina as he had, that’s all._

The big idiot gave him a loving look, which would normally make his skin crawl, but he felt Darkwing’s— _not HIS_ —cheeks flush. _G-goddamn it._

“This is fun, but why don’t we go on upstairs, DW,” the pilot whispered, smiling sweetly up at him. “Lemme make love to ya.” _Urggghhhhh._ Negaduck wanted to hurl, but there was that toe-curling shiver wracking through his body again.

And before he knew it—if he’d had time to process it, he could have fought or bit him or _FUCK, something!_ —the big guy was carrying him in his beefy arms, like Negaduck was his sweet little bride or some such shit. For a second, he marveled at how perfectly he fit in the big idiot’s strong embrace as he was oh-so-sweetly being taken up to bed. 

_Hey, wait a goddamned minute. I don’t get sweetly TAKEN ANYWHERE!_ Negaduck remembered to be indignant.

_Oh, FUCK no._ _His ego couldn’t take this shit._ Negaduck wriggled, hoping he could get his arms free, maybe he could try a strangle-hold, choke out this bitch…

But all of that was in vain, and irritatingly, Negaduck found himself cuddled even more tightly in the big idiot's iron grip. “Heh, yer bein’ real wild today, DW,” Launchpad whispered against his neck, and Negaduck felt his feathers tingle where the big guy’s breathy words tickled against him.

“You bet yer ass I—” He started to protest.

But his eyes rolled back in his head when the big idiot kissed him so deeply Negaduck could swear the sidekick’s tongue was halfway down his throat. _C’mon, Negs,_ he urged himself, _this would be the perfect time to **BITE THE FUCK** out of this asshole_…but he, err, DARKWING— _it had to be him interfering again_ —was distracted by the electrifying feel of those lips and how the big dumb sidekick’s tongue felt licking wild and deep inside his mouth, teasing and flustering the fuck out of him. 

Shit, this motherfucker was _too_ goddamned talented: he could fill up either end of him so nerve-meltingly deep, Negaduck couldn’t even _THINK_ of anything else _. Mmmm, imagine if he did both at the same time,_ he thought, his already wet, hard dick twitching even more at the thought of being reamed deliciously full at both ends. _Oooh, God all of this pissed him off._ But he had to wonder, how in the hell did Darkwing get any shit done with THIS guy around, the big sexy idiot constantly tempting him with how fucking _good_ he could give it to his little hero? 

_Yeah, why **doesn’t** the little dipshit stay home more often,_ Negaduck thought as Launchpad’s hot kissing and licking inside his mouth sent a blaze of desire scorching from his beak all the way down to his crotch. _Let me rob some banks while you let this idiot dick you down good, Drakey. Mmm, no one would blame you if you took a couple nights off to, you know, GET OFF._

He, err, didn’t exactly want to admit it, but occasionally a few banks went un-robbed, because, _well_...sometimes he didn’t really want to leave the Negaverse for a similar reason. _But HEY, a guy has NEEDS, goddammit._

Then the big dummy pulled off his mouth with a wet smack, and sadly, Negaduck realized that his opportunity to sink his fangs into that big fat tongue was lost. “Ya don’t haveta try so hard, ya know.”

Negaduck instantly bristled. “What do you MEAN—” The _NERVE_ of this fucker!

“Ya don’t haveta put on a show for me, DW. Ya know I think yer hot, no matter what.” _What SHOW? This little shit._

But before he could retort, the big idiot shot him a sizzling stare, and teasingly smooched and nipped at his cheek feathers, and _somehow_ that made Negaduck blush even harder than when the dumb sidekick was pumping him full of cock earlier. 

_F-fucking hell…_ Negaduck cringed as he felt his whole body flush. _Darkwing is such a freakin’ sap._ B-but, _NONE_ of this had any real effect on _Negaduck,_ of course.

His mind was still spinning when he realized that Launchpad had carried him upstairs to Darkwing’s stupid bedroom, and with a disgustingly sweet and gentle touch, laid him down tenderly in the middle of their big, non-wrecked bed with its CLEAN, soft, silky sheets. 

_Urrrrgggghh. Was Darkwing some sort of princess? Where was his rotten, destroyed mattress covered in cigarette ash and cum? If it didn’t smell like an ashtray and a used condom, it wasn’t home._

Launchpad very tenderly removed Negaduck’s sweaty, greasy clothing for him, and then he removed his own, so now they were both naked, lying sensually on the bed. Then the big idiot was kissing him again, and though Negaduck desperately wanted to try to bite him again, this stupid body must have been worn out, because he found he somehow… _couldn’t._ He found that he was just kissing him back, and like a lame little shit, just hummed and moaned as the big idiot nibbled and smooched up and down his neck. 

_Darkwing was doing this! Not him,_ he thought indignantly, his heart thudding with every sweet kiss and suckle to his flushed skin. His tail DEFINITELY wasn’t wagging, either, god _DAMMIT._

Somewhere off to the side, Negaduck heard a bottle opening and the sound of something squeezing out, but he was distracted by the constant hot kisses to his mouth and neck. He let out a squeak— _again, that was DARKWING, the chew-toy-sounding motherfucker_ —as he felt fingers lubing his hole, and then he let out a slutty moan— _it wasn’t HIM!_ —when the big guy stuck it in again.

Before long, Negaduck was whimpering and sighing like the _thirstiest_ little bitch as the big idiot moved between his legs. The pilot was giving him nice long strokes, pulling out all the way to the tip and pushing in deep, all the way to the base. There was none of that pain Negaduck thrived on, just juicy wet… _pleasure._ Even the spanks from earlier didn’t burn so hot anymore; he could only concentrate on the sidekick’s cock wetly fucking in and out of his spread ass, all nice, hot and slick, each thrust making slippery gushing sounds as he fucked him in a perfect rhythm. It’d be so much better if Launchpad was twisting his leg in the wrong direction or tearing at the feathers on his chest while he reamed him, instead of this ugh… _gentle_ caress on his hips and the occasional damned kisses to his face as he slid in and out, plenty of lube squishing and stirring around inside him. 

But god _DAMN_ if it didn’t feel good, _still._ He fucking HATED that with every roll of the pilot’s strong, solid hips he was getting closer and closer to orgasm. His body really _was_ reverting totally to Darkwing, had to be. 

Because there was no FUCKING way that Negaduck could get off on this kind of _domestic shit._

But he _was,_ and he _did._

With loud wailing—and more than one high-pitched, breathy “Oh G-god, LP!!!” that made his own ears burn in embarrassment at how the nickname sprang so easily to his lips—as that passionate, wet pounding in his ass got too intense, and those fiery kisses and teasing, light nipping at his skin and mouth made him way too hot. The silky bedsheets felt too smooth, sliding like water over his ruffled feathers, and the sharp squeak of the mattress with each of the sidekick’s hard thrusts was too rhythmic, made it all feel like a long, sweet, sweaty dance. 

All of it was so fucking… _domestic,_ this—well, domestic fucking. It was all too much, and Negaduck couldn’t take it anymore. But it wasn’t his fault! The big idiot kept rubbing him in that special spot and before long, he had gotten Negaduck screaming like a horny fucking housewife, thrashing around in ecstasy as he was reamed full of delicious hot dick, over and over. _What had he said, that Darkwing loved being on his back like a bitch? He’d been right, after all._ _He was so fucking basic. The goddamned suburban little twink._

But being right didn’t make him feel any better when one of the pilot’s deep, hot fucks in was one too many, and with a loud wail, Negaduck finally erupted seemingly BUCKETS of cum, spurting it all over both his and the idiot’s bellies, hot and slick and satisfying as his throbbing ass got endlessly pounded into the mattress. Sighing with bliss as the aftershocks radiated through his exhausted body, Negaduck was fucking PISSED; he couldn’t believe that he could come so hard and SO MUCH in this idiotic, sweet context. 

The pilot, bleh, ever the perfect gentleman, had apparently been waiting for him to blow his load, because almost immediately after, he FINALLY started to orgasm, too. Negaduck cried out as Launchpad grabbed his ass roughly and _god DAMN,_ pummeled his hole so hard and so mind-meltingly _deep_ Negaduck could swear he could feel the pilot’s fat cock pounding against his fucking ribs, and one or two deep, wet fucks in later, the idiot was finally cumming inside him: Negaduck could feel that big, yummy cock pulsing and twitching as hot spurts of juicy cum spilled and sloshed against his walls, the sidekick pumping him full of more and more and _OH FUCK, more,_ with every thrust. His eyes crossing, Negaduck squirmed as the thick, heavy load quickly filled his ass, and he felt the excess squishing out between the last, lazy pumps of the big dummy’s strong hips before his dick softened completely. When he pulled out, hot globs of cum puddled out of Negaduck’s sore ass and dribbled down his quivering ass cheeks in thick rivulets, seeping into the pristine sheets. As Negaduck lay there panting, warm post-fuck afterglow washing over him, he thought he could at least revel in the fact that they’d dirtied up Darkwing’s bed. Maybe if he could summon the energy, he’d rip at it with his nails, too.

But he was falling asleep. Even worse, he was cuddled in the big idiot’s arms. _Of all the sappy fucking things…_ he thought, nuzzling against Launchpad’s neck.

What finally destroyed what was left of his fucking dignity was when Launchpad said, “I love you, Drake,” and without even _thinking,_ he said, “I love you too, LP.” He sounded so sweet his stomach started churning, like he was going to vomit. 

_WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Was he even HIM anymore?!_ Negaduck's ire was starting to fade into confusion—and alarm. _Had he **really** turned into Darkwing...?!_

He couldn’t hear or see anything else after that. Maybe it was the blackness of sleep, or maybe he was finally going back to where he came from—his own fucking world. Maybe saying those dreaded three words was the key to being sent home to the hellscape where he belonged. Whatever the fuck it was, all he knew now was a vast, inky void. 

\--

Ages seemed to have passed. Yet at the same time, only a second. Negaduck was standing in front of the mirror, blinking. _The fuck kind of batshit crazy reverie had he been having?_ It was like he dreamt of…being Darkwing? _Why?_ Then he smirked, remembering: it had been some sort of sex dream. Being fucked by Darkwing’s idiot of a sidekick. 

_Yeah, riiiight. Like he wanted even a whiff of that vanilla shit._

But his head was killing him. _Holy shit, he needed to lay off some of the drugs and that cheap fucking liquor,_ he thought, gripping the sides of his aching skull. The hurt excited him, but something about it scared him. Something was off. _Fucked up._

The mirror shone with an eerie light. Something about that was very familiar—in a bad way—and Negaduck felt his stomach clench and a cold sheen of sweat envelop him.

Everything got brighter and brighter, and Negaduck cowered as the blinding light engulfed him. He didn’t even have time to shout for help. 

Then, in an instant—

Everything was pure, pristine white. 

_Washed clean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time for what's going on with Darkwing...and Nega-Launchpad. Ruh roh.


	3. Shadow Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkwing goes to S.H.U.S.H. on a mundane errand, and ends up with a fancy, free mirror. What luck! Or so he thought, until he starts having the worst headaches. Then one night, the mirror ends up blasting him into another dimension. He then wakes up in the body of...Negaduck?! This CAN'T be anything more than a dream, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first part starring Darkwing and Nega-Launchpad. In this story, Darkwing has never gone to the Negaverse or met Nega-LP, even though he did in the 90s show. 
> 
> FYI: No explicit sex yet for these two, this is just the plot setup chapter (making it akin to Shine Part 1). But there is going to be quite a lot of smut in later chapter(s), so there's that. In any case, thank you for reading my insanely long porn fic about cartoon ducks from the 90s. God what am I doing.

“Heads up!!” 

Darkwing Duck barely had time to grab his tando hat in one hand and the gigantic hand of his sidekick in the other and _hit the deck_ before a twenty-foot laser beam swept over them with a loud _WHOOSH._

This kind of random danger was normal for one of their adventures, sure, but he still wasn’t quite used to it being so commonplace at S.H.U.S.H. Headquarters. Hell, sometimes _villains’ hideouts_ were safer than this place. 

_And all he wanted to do was pick up his freakin’ check!_ Darkwing glared up at his attacker, Dr. Sara Bellum, from the heap he and his sidekick were in on the floor.

“Hey, a warning would've been nice! One that wasn’t two seconds before we were almost melted!”

“Apologies, Darkwing,” Dr. Bellum said, adjusting something on her laser gun, but it sounded like she was merely vaguely acknowledging the word existed, rather than actually being sorry.

Darkwing stood, dusting himself off, and looked around the laboratory in bewilderment. It was lined with mirrors of all shapes and sizes, tilted at random angles. A couple of them had apparently shattered, and the broken ones had been swept into a pile in the corner of the large room.

“As you can see, we’re testing out the capabilities of this new high-impact laser pistol, and how it interacts with reflective surfaces,” Dr. Bellum said, and proceeded to shoot again. Beside him, Launchpad cowered, but Darkwing watched with some interest as the beam bounced off one, two, three different mirrors at different angles. When a second shot merely shattered a mirror and singed the wall behind it, Dr. Bellum shrugged, and wrote some stuff down. A bored entry-level S.H.U.S.H. agent sighed and swept the broken pieces into the corner along with the other destroyed chunks of ruined mirrors that couldn't withstand the laser attacks.

“Wow, uh, where’dya think they got all these mirrors from, DW?” Launchpad whispered behind his hand.

Dr. Bellum apparently had keen hearing. “Oh, most of these came from the basement. Total mess down there. Some of these, we don’t even know where they came from originally. In fact, a few of them might even be the property of former prison inmates.”

She leaned towards them and whispered ominously. “SOME OF WHOM **_ESCAPED…_ ”** Exchanging glances, both Darkwing and Launchpad gulped.

Then she bolted upright and said cheerily, “But most of it’s just your garden variety junk, though. Honestly, we’re just kind of using this yard-sale fodder for target practice.” And she shot again, shattering another mirror with an apparently too-weak surface.

Launchpad, who was vaguely superstitious about such things, cringed as the mirror broke. “But, but, don’tcha believe in seven years’ bad luck? Gee, from the looks of it, yer gonna be unlucky forever.”

Dr. Bellum clapped him on the back as if he had just told her a hilarious joke. “HA!” Then she saw how serious he looked. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Come now, Launchpad, I’m a scientist—I don’t believe in anything!”

During their little exchange, Darkwing was fixated on a heavy-looking, ornate mirror leaned up against the wall. It was gorgeous, and something about it made HIM look even more gorgeous, too. He posed this way and that, absolutely loving every angle. It made him look even more suave and handsome, and _well,_ it’d be a shame to let the scientist lady destroy it. 

“Hey, uh, Dr. Bellum, are you planning on just shooting this one, too?” He asked casually, tilting his hat and examining his sexy profile in the mirror's shiny surface.

“I already have, and it’s not a particularly ideal mirror for my experiments since I can’t easily change the angle. To be blunt, it’s too huge and cumbersome,” she shrugged. “Why, do you want it?”

“Well, if you need someone to take it off your hands…” Darkwing took a quick peek at his backside, which to his pleasure, the mirror revealed was looking _perfect._ “Hey LP, what do you think about us taking this one home?”

Launchpad glanced at it, his expression a little wary. “Huh, well, I guess we sorta might be in the market for a new one, maybe. Gos kinda busted that one that we used to keep in our bedroom, didn’t she?”

Darkwing’s stomach immediately dropped because LP had just inadvertently disclosed some too-personal information. These S.H.U.S.H. people didn’t need to know any of…well, _that._

When Dr. Bellum gave the pilot a curious look, LP simply explained, “She didn’t even need to use a laser, it was a hockey puck. We were pickin’ glass out of the carpet and hoo boy, even the mattress, all afternoon. And some that night, too.”

“LP!!!” Darkwing clapped a hand to his forehead, cringing. He didn’t want the doctor or anybody else here imagining ANYTHING having to do with his private domicile, especially not his bedroom. Plus, the memory of having glass in his ass wasn’t exactly a favorite.

“What? It’s true,” Launchpad said, sounding exasperated. Darkwing needed to get them out of here before he blabbed even more intimate details. Dr. Bellum just snickered at them, and gave the duo the go-ahead to take the heavy but beautiful decoration home. Of course, Launchpad did most of the heavy lifting while Darkwing picked up his check, which is what he had really come here to do in the first place. 

And with that, they had a nice new (FREE!) mirror for their house. Like he did with the erstwhile mirror, Darkwing (also known as Drake) asked Launchpad to set it up in the— _errr, **their**_ —bedroom, where he could admire it (and himself) every day. Even better, it was resistant to any random attacks by Gosalyn’s baseball bat, hockey puck or your other typical mirror-shattering agents of destruction. 

Everything was going great, at least until the headaches started. 

At first, Drake figured he was just stressed out, since being both Darkwing Duck and a dad weren’t exactly the most relaxing jobs. But even painkillers and a few precious more hours’ sleep at night didn’t help much, so he then decided to work on his diet, thinking that might help, even tangentially. Honestly, it was something he needed to do anyway, because recently, LP’s cooking had started improving astronomically and while he appreciated the lesser quantities of hot sauce and random candy sprinkles in their meals, none of the rich food was doing a bit of good for his waistline. He started meticulously watching what he ate, and even went so far as to cut down on his caffeine intake, even though that about _killed_ him. Coffee was _life,_ after all. 

Yet even after all of that sacrifice—and after he was several pounds lighter, healthier, BUT much, _much_ grumpier—the headaches STILL persisted. He slowly began to notice that they were much more intense when he was in the bedroom, for some reason. When he was near the mirror, the one they had newly acquired. _Hmm._

But a mere decoration couldn’t have any _physical_ effect on him, could it? Not unless it fell over on him, squashing him flat, like one of several anvils that had been dropped on him during his various escapades. 

_Nah, that was ridiculous._

Or so Drake thought, until one night, the pain was so intense he woke up in a cold sweat. 

He sat up in bed, massaging his temples, thinking, _Shit, is this a migraine?_ Launchpad was curled comfortably in a huge heap beside him, snoring up a storm like he always did. Drake scowled at his bedmate, irritated that the big lug could sleep so comfortably when _he_ COULDN’T. But his irritation immediately disappeared when he saw that LP was sweetly holding his hand, despite being so dead to the world that he was dribbling drool all over Drake’s expensive pillows. 

Drake gulped, feeling his face get hot as he peered down at his sappy, unbelievably handsome sidekick. _How silly can you get, holding my hand while you sleep? I'm not GOING anywhere, LP._ But secretly, LP’s warm hand clasped around his was a source of comfort to him, especially as his throbbing headache continued.

He then heard a strange kind of hissing coming from the corner of the room, and brief flashes of light shimmered in his vision. Astounded, Drake slipped his hand from Launchpad’s, who sighed somewhat in his sleep, and stepped toward the source of the oddity.

It _had_ been the mirror. With each step Drake took towards it, his head was hurting worse and worse, and the mirror was making odd screeching sounds and shining brighter and brighter. 

Was it…magic? Or was this some kind of strange dream?

Dr. Bellum’s voice echoed suddenly in his head. “Former inmates…property… ** _ESCAPED…_ ”**

_W-where had this thing come from?!_

With a sick feeling in his gut, Drake was now horrifyingly aware that he had perhaps made a terrible mistake. As soon as he thought it, a laser even more terrifying than the doctor’s shot from the mirror, and before he could even scream, it seared through him. As his body disintegrated, he could only hope that his arrogance wouldn’t end up killing his family, too. Images of LP and Gos floated in his vision, remaining in his mind even when he couldn’t see anymore. 

God, he was such an idiot. _Will they ever forgive me?_

\--

After what seemed like centuries of existing in a dark void, Drake awoke, amazingly without pain, despite having been horribly killed by that stupid, enigmatic mirror. He was dismayed to find himself not in his comfortable suburban home, but in a disgusting, horrible place. It looked strangely like his own house, only half-destroyed. He was standing, somehow, in his Not-Living room, and the couch, which was normally intact and clean, was ripped up and stained with God-knows what. Everything reeked. He could smell all kinds of strange odors: hints of cigarettes, stale coffee, garbage, blood, sweat, and something… _off_ that sort of smelled like a mixture of bleach and fish. He gagged violently, holding onto the destroyed couch for some support, wincing as his fingers touched some dubious, sticky spot on the upholstery. 

He looked down at his person. He was shocked to find himself dressed in what looked to be Negaduck’s garish yellow blazer, which had some bloodstains on it _. Shit, was he bleeding somewhere?_ He patted himself here and there, but he didn’t feel any deep wounds anywhere. He could see scars, nicks, and bruises on his legs and feet, though, and he had some bandages stuck haphazardly on a few of them. Why was he all scratched up like this? He hadn’t been in any scuffles lately, so it didn't make sense. Then he looked down at his hands, which looked a mess. There was dirt and blood caked under the fingernails, which were jagged and looked like they would hurt if they ripped across some flesh. Which they probably already had, given the look of them. 

_Why was he dressed like this, and his body in this state? Was this really even HIM?_

He ran for the door, hoping that outside at least, St. Canard was normal. But he looked in dismay at the billowing, ash-colored clouds circling the skies. Even the air tasted bad, like acrid smoke and garbage. He stumbled out onto the parched, desert-like lawn, hearing the crunch of dry weeds and cracked dirt under his feet. He gaped at the ruined neighborhood around him, his mind swirling like the black skies overhead.

“Ya take some bad shit or somethin’, Negs?” Came a gruff voice behind him. “Ya look fucked up.”

_‘Negs?’ What?! But **HE** wasn’t… _

Drake whirled around and found himself face-to-face with Launchpad. Only it somehow _wasn’t_ Launchpad. Not quite, anyway. This version, scruffy, long-haired, and dressed like some bruiser straight out of a post-apocalyptic 80s film, was scowling down at him, with not a glimmer of that cheerful, friendly spirit he came to rely on with his own sidekick. He instantly felt intimidated by that glare and hoped that his alarm didn’t show on his face.

_So, this weird, scary version of Launchpad thought he was Negaduck? Some bizarre version of Gosalyn wasn’t here in this godforsaken place too, was she? Shit, he hoped not._

“Uhh…yeah,” he said slowly, attempting to disguise how nervous he was, and was instantly disturbed at how low and gravelly his own voice sounded. “I, uh, took some bad shit…” he murmured, sounding EXACTLY like Negaduck. _But how?_ He couldn’t hit those low octaves…

_Wait…was there a possibility that he…WAS Negaduck? No-no-no, that couldn’t be. This HAD to be a dream. None of that nonsense with the mirror had happened. He’d woken up with one of his headaches, fallen back asleep, and was now dreaming all of… **this.** _

The bizarro Launchpad slammed a fist into his palm, as if he had something figured out. “It was drugs from that fuckin’ Sara Bellum chick again, wasn’t it—she’s the one always mixin’ up that fucked up shit in that lab o’ hers.” 

_Sara Bellum? As in, DOCTOR Sara Bellum? From S.H.U.S.H.? What the hell? She wasn’t involved in any kind of criminal activity._ But then Drake thought about some of the shady stuff SHUSH sometimes did—like hiring the likes of him, a vigilante whose job was to work on the down-low, not to mention keeping potentially haunted mirrors around and handing them off to anybody _dumb enough_ , err, **_unfortunate_** _enough_ , to take it—and um, _reconsidered_ his rash assessment.

Launchpad tapped a finger against his temple, like he was trying his best to think. “But ya know, I’ve nabbed some shit from her before that wasn’t even _DRUGS…_ One time, it mighta been rocket fuel, now that I think about it. Couldn’t do shit with it, it was so fuckin’ cold.” Utterly confused, Drake narrowed his eyes up at the big guy as this strange version of Launchpad seemed to search the sky for answers. 

“Why’s she makin’ stuff other than for gettin’ high, anyway?” He finally mused, since the silent sky, apparently as confused as Drake was, wasn’t providing him any answers. “Fuckin’ nerd.”

_Okaaaaay. So, this guy was, like his own Launchpad, uh…not exactly an egghead, either. That at least was a relief._

“Yeah…” Drake muttered, still marveling at his strange surroundings. He took a few more steps towards the broken street. _Clearly_ , _all this_ _had to be a dream…_

Then, he gasped when suddenly, Launchpad scooped him up in his muscular, smelly arms.

_Woof, this guy needed a shower._ The stench emanating from his _everything_ was rank as hell. Drake started gagging at Launchpad’s musk, but stopped in mid-cough when he locked eyes with the big guy, who was peering down at Drake as he was clutched tightly in his arms. His rough stubble was tickling Drake’s neck, and it burned a little where they were touching. _This was…oddly intimate_ , Drake thought, and couldn’t help but stare back at him, losing himself in that gruff, steely gaze. He WAS still Launchpad, after all, but a strange kind of tough, unfriendly version. 

_Mmm, a version that played rough? W-well, sometimes Drake DID wonder if his nice, sweet, normal Launchpad wouldn’t try being a little more that way with him, in a certain context at least._

Under that stern glare, Drake felt his face get a little bit hot, and he couldn’t help but think, _W-wow, if this guy wasn’t hotter than hell. Smells like a dumpster, but God. **DAMN.**_

“I’ll take ya inside, Negs. If ya try to walk around like that, you’ll end up laid up in a gutter somewhere. _Again.”_ They were heading back inside, and Launchpad kicked the ruined front door shut behind them as he entered, like a horrible groom carrying his disgusting bride across the threshold. 

_Huh._ It sounded like this Launchpad…sort of _took care_ of Negaduck, as weird as that was. Oh, just imagine it—Negaduck, the psycho, being sweetly tended to by this big, smelly— _and holy shit, insanely hot_ —rough n’ tough version of Launchpad. _HA!_ Drake couldn’t help but snort at how amusing even the _thought_ of that was. _This dream was turning out to be pretty entertaining!_

But the grin fell from his face when he felt the tickle of Launchpad’s teeth grazing up his neck. 

_W-w-wait, what in the hell was THIS?_

His teeth were a little sharp as they teasingly raked over his flesh. _Ooh, damn, they were much sharper than his own sidekick’s, anyway,_ Drake thought, gulping as um, _certain_ dirty memories flooded his thoughts. 

“Ya know, boss, I can make ya real _comfortable_ while ya come down off that high…” His gruff voice was rumbling in Drake’s ear, and he felt a hot tingle shoot up his spine and bloom across his cheeks. 

_‘Comfortable,’ huh?_ Did each of those hot syllables mean what Drake thought it meant? _Hol-y shit._

So…Negaduck and his Launchpad were… _involved?_ Uh, like _THAT?_ As in, smoochy-smoochy, _hot and heavy,_ **_burn-up-the-sheets_** kind of involved? And knowing Negaduck, that meant these two might _literally_ set the bed on fire. With gasoline and a flamethrower. 

**Wow.** _I guess their relationship makes sense,_ he mused, _because him and LP were a thing, but…_

But then Drake remembered a critical detail: this tough-guy version of Launchpad, who was so carefully carrying him, thought _HE_ was Negaduck right now, and Drake broke out into a nervous sweat. Even if this was just a dream, this could _get dangerous,_ and not in the way it usually meant for him. Drake was suddenly aware of one of Launchpad’s meaty hands supporting his very vulnerable rear.

_If Negaduck and his Launchpad really did have the same kind of relationship, then it was only a matter of time before—_

_Ohh, shit—yep, he knew it:_ Launchpad was now squeezing his ass hard, one plush cheek squishing between those big, dirty, work-worn fingers. _Holy shit,_ Drake thought, heart racing at how good it felt, but instantly feeling weird because—

_This wasn’t HIS Launchpad._

_Or WAS he?_ Because if Drake really _WAS_ Negaduck, then this Launchpad most certainly _was_. But he didn’t FEEL like Negaduck, though, not entirely. And did Negaduck even HAVE his own Launchpad? And an identical suburban house, destroyed as it was? That didn’t seem likely, either. They’d be way more similar than Drake ever imagined, if that was the case.

_Damn, all of this was so confusing. What in the hell was going on?!_

_Come now, Drake, you gotta remember, this is all a **dream,**_ Drake reassured himself. _It CAN’T be anything other than that._ _You’re fast asleep, dreaming up, honestly, the most bizarre scenario. I mean, come on—you aren’t cheating on LP with…LP. That isn’t POSSIBLE. Your brain is trying to make sense of whatever strange stressors you’ve had, with all the cases lately, with balancing your domestic life, those weird headaches you falsely attributed to the mirror, as if THAT was even possible either…hell, all of this could be a manifestation of just about anything. Just go with it. You’ll wake up and laugh at all this later._

_Let the dream, weird as it is, take its course._

That was the sensible thing to do.

_…Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I’m a scientist—I don’t believe in anything!" is a quote lifted from the excellent 2001 parody of retro crappy sci-fi movies, _The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra._ Definitely check that out, it’s hilarious. Animala, a character in that film made from 4 forest creatures, is my spirit animal and is overall just awesome and funny.


	4. Shadow Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where Darkwing and Nega-Launchpad engage in a whole bunch of raunchy sex. Contains a little bit of feels because Drake starts to confront how selfish a lover he is and how much "the real" LP spoils him (in bed and otherwise) in the regular world. Meanwhile, Nega-LP is intrigued, somewhat amused, and... _turned on_ by the idea of Negaduck, of all people, being sweeter than usual (which of course means _AT ALL)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bunch of scenes, and stitched them together, so the flow, so to speak, might be a bit off.  
> The continuation will be in the next chapter. This section was (and is) already too long, so I needed to break it up somewhat.
> 
> Some positions and situations were inspired by the work of several talented artists on Twitter, one of whom is the amazing @softiegrowl, whose awesome art of Negaduck/NegaLP was so good it was a major influence for the whole "Out to Lunch" scene. Please check out his work!

_Drake had convinced himself that this—him being somehow stuck in Negaduck's body, here in the Negaverse, with Negaduck's sidekick/boyfriend—all of that strangeness—was all just a dream. Couldn't be anything other than that, it was just too weird._

But Drake thought that it felt strangely _TOO_ realistic for a dream when “dream” Launchpad’s dirty fingers yanked roughly on his tail feathers, pulling a couple out in the process. Drake was instantly jolted back to this non-reality. 

“F-fuck!” He yelped at the sharp pulling at his posterior, then snarled, “The fuck are you doing?” He was immediately startled at how easily the words came to his lips. He usually didn’t curse that much— _out loud, anyway_ , **_hellloooo,_** _he had a daughter with sensitive little ears after all_ —but now, he was sounding just like his nemesis, swearing left and right. _It made sense, though, in the context of a dream-state. If that really **was** what all this was._

“Heh, well, I guess I AM bein’ a little too _gentle,_ aren’t I? Sorry ‘bout that, boss.” Launchpad flashed him a naughty grin.

_What._

_G-GENTLE?_

And then, without warning, Drake felt Launchpad bite down, his sharp maw clamping onto his neck, and the rough burn of two impossibly thick fingers shoved deep in his…

_Oh, **F-FUCK!**_

For a second, he saw stars. Pointy, raw, ripping, white-hot stars. 

“FUUUUUCK!!” He shouted, searing hot, raw pain burning deep in his ass and his neck. He felt a trickle— _holy shit, this dream felt so real_ —and his stomach dropped in horrified alarm. _Was there…blood?_ It had to be, dripping from the ragged hole in his neck. There was definitely some coming from… _down there_ , too. The real version of Launchpad was never even a quarter as rough with him as this dream one—or should he say _nightmare?—_ _thank God._

_…Right?_

Because even through the pain, Drake felt an overwhelming, indescribable heat glide over his ruffled feathers, from where this rough, imaginary Launchpad was nipping him hard and lapping at his bleeding neck down to where he could feel those thick fingers— _oh, fuck_ —scissoring inside him, with not a drop of lube easing that red-hot burn. 

**_FUCK,_** _this hurt so, so **bad.**_

But as he panted there in Launchpad’s arms, his senses suddenly razor-sharp, slowly Drake was starting to understand the phrase “hurt so good” too. He guessed that it made sense that Negaduck might be into… _this kind of thing._ And he was exploring it himself, apparently, deep in the recesses of his mind. He wasn’t entirely aware of it, but not a few of those white-hot painful stars floating in his vision got replaced by several plump, rose-tinted hearts.

Launchpad pulled his mouth away, spitting out a few bloody feathers, but his fingers remained, pulsing this way and that, making Drake groan with each drag and pull. He squirmed in the rough, smelly arms embracing him, his eyes crossing at all these overwhelming sensations. The raw burn in his ass was slowly lessening, pain accompanied by more and more… _pleasure._ It certainly helped that Launchpad kept flicking his fingers over his sweet spot, making every nerve twitch. 

Launchpad’s beak was a little bloody, as Drake had suspected it would be, and the scary guy gave him a toothy grin. “That’s better, right? Little more to yer likin’?” His flinty eyes were flickering with such a dangerous light that—and Drake felt ashamed at this—he was making him _so hot_ he was almost mewling. He felt his arousal, a little slick, already peeking out between his feathery thighs.

_Well, it looked like this dream was turning into a different kind—a **wet** one._

Launchpad had apparently noticed Drake’s slippery erection poking out between his legs, because he gave a knowing little smirk at the smaller duck squirming in his arms. “Mmm, looks like yer itchin’ for a good hot fuck,” he whispered against Drake’s tortured neck. “Feels like ya might be about ready for it, too,” he said, squishing his fingers around in Drake’s ass, making him groan loudly at the sensation. Drake writhed in embarrassment as he felt his hole throbbing and clenching hungrily around the big guy’s tickling fingers, his body clearly wanting _MORE._

“Well, I got just the _thing_ for ya, Negsy.” Drake’s face burned even hotter than the sharp pulsing inside him, because he had a pretty good idea of what that ‘thing’ Launchpad might have for him was. If this dream version of LP was anything like his own Launchpad, this was gonna _hurt._ And if it was anything like the burn of those fingers before, with a horrifying lack of lubrication, his ass would be absolutely _ripped open,_ searing hot around that thick piece of meat pushing dry into him.

But instead of reeling at the thought, as any sane person _SHOULD_ be, Drake’s mouth was _watering._

_Wait wait wait—hang on!_ That horrifying scenario seemed like something **_Negaduck_** would be into, not him. He liked slick and slidy. Comfortable, preferably on his back, or maybe ass-up with his belly on the edge of his soft, silky bed, with his partner giving him the perfect amount of friction and a nice, steady rhythm. With plenty of lubrication! _This dream really WAS turning him into his nemesis, wasn’t it—making him enact every horrific thing he imagined his doppleganger enjoyed..._

Fingers still pulsing in and out of him, Launchpad carried him upstairs. Drake thanked his lucky stars that they wouldn’t be having sex on that horrible couch. But when he saw their bed, he groaned, because it was every bit as dirty and broken, with rusty springs sticking out and the mattress stained with God knows what. Although after seeing some of those off-white stains up close, Drake’s stomach churned, because he had a pretty good idea what they might be.

“Damn, yer sweatin’, boss. Must be the drugs wearin’ off…” Launchpad growled in his ear. “Either that, or yer real excited about gettin’ yer little ass fucked,” he teased, and without any warning, pulled his fingers out of Drake roughly with a lewd squish, and rudely tossed the smaller duck like a sack of potatoes onto the bed, Drake’s—err, Negaduck's—hat flying off in the process. Drake groaned loudly at the loss of those tickling fingers but what irritated him more were those mocking words, which made him remember his own, real Launchpad teasing him _just like this_ in the bedroom.

The memory easily came to mind: Launchpad had been behind him, pressing his delicious length right up to Drake’s spread and waiting entrance, teasing the fire out of him and _honestly,_ being sooo uncharacteristically _mean_ to him! The big lug wouldn’t just _give_ it to him like Drake wanted, and instead he had just lingered there, listening to Drake’s breath hitch roughly, panting and drooling in tortured anticipation for too many goddamned minutes.He kept saying stuff like, _“Heh, sounds like yer just dyin’ for a piece of this, DW…”_ and _“Whaddya say, DW? Aw c’mon, lemme know ya want it…”_

Recalling this, Drake flushed hot with embarrassment. LP, that big old meanie, hadn’t been WRONG— _you know, about him wanting it_ —but still! Drake had dignity a mile high and didn’t like _one bit_ to BEG— _God no._ Drake liked being the bossy one, used to getting what he wanted _WHEN_ he wanted it. And for the most part, he did. Except very rarely, such as annoying little circumstances like that one, when LP decided he was going to hold out on him.

Drake couldn’t help but feel indignant—no, for some reason his emotions were amplified: he felt _FUCKING PISSED_ —at this memory. “Hey, fuck you!” He yelled at _this_ Launchpad, as if that would help, startling even himself with the sudden profanity. Launchpad raised an eyebrow, probably about to tease him again. 

Drake beat him to the punch, as it were. He wouldn’t put it past this guy to actually punch him. Hell, disturbingly, a part of him tingled in anticipation of that thick fist dislocating his jaw. 

“Oh, gimme a BREAK—as if _YOU’RE_ not the one just DYING to fuck this hot piece of tail.” 

As soon as Drake said it, his stomach churned. He was being even more arrogant than he usually was…not exactly off-brand, but _damn—_ Negaduck was _such_ an ass. 

He then rudely gestured towards the proof of his claim: Launchpad’s very prominent erection tenting those stained pants of his. Inwardly shocked at himself, Drake merely shot Launchpad a devastating glare, all the while seductively leaning onto his side, putting a dirty hand on his dirtier yellow blazer at the hip, as if he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

“Can’t blame ya, really.” Drake’s heart was racing as he stuck his tongue out at the big, dangerous idiot. Despite the imminent danger to his person and especially his ass, he felt himself getting haughtier and haughtier, and _ooh, fuck,_ _hotter and hotter._

This was definitely a _WET_ DREAM. 

He felt himself smirking at the big dope. “You’d be even more of a dumbass than you already are if you DIDN’T want some of this action.” Running his tongue over his teeth, he was startled at how sharp they were. The dream really was steering him to act just like his most hated enemy. 

His rough, arrogant tone was apparently igniting something in Launchpad, because the big guy was getting redder and redder in the face. It wasn’t clear whether he was pissed off or horny. Drake felt a lump in his throat as he considered that it was maybe _both._

Glaring at Drake, Launchpad ripped off his shirt, tearing it at the seams as the fabric slid over his rippling chest. _Oh, f-fuck,_ Drake thought, and he felt a drop of drool slide down his chin. This Launchpad was every bit as jacked as his own.

_He's a lot more scarred up, though,_ Drake noticed. He had rips and tears all over his deliciously muscular torso. Drake wondered if Negaduck had been responsible for some of those wounds. Especially since some of them looked suspiciously like teeth marks…

_It’d be so easy to add even more,_ he thought darkly as he ran his tongue once again over his sharp fangs, and immediately shivered. _W-what the fuck was he thinking?_

Launchpad leaned down, as if he was about to start taking his boots off to get ready for their dirty little romp, but then he jolted right back up, a sinister white flash gleaming in his hand. And in one terrifying instant, he leapt at Drake, and only in mid-pounce did the smaller duck register with horror— _and a tiny bit of excitement_ —that the big guy had a fucking _KNIFE._

_FUCK—I’m gonna die,_ he thought, trying desperately to scoot up the mattress as fast and as far as he could in a last-ditch attempt to protect himself, but he only ended up falling flat on his back. _Holy shit, I’m DEAD MEAT._

Even the idea that this was _Only a Dream_ barely comforted him, because when the knife came sailing towards his vulnerable neck in a devastating, lightning-fast motion, he _shrieked._

**_“LP!!!”_** He cried, and even Negaduck’s gravelly low voice sounded high and shrill with alarm. His mask felt a little wet, and he realized a few tears had squeezed out in his terror. _Holy shiiiiit, maybe even Negaduck got shaken up now and then,_ he thought, because his heart was just hammering away in his chest, too. 

The knife stopped a millimeter from his jugular. His hulking frame hovering over Drake, Launchpad was straddling him, gazing down at him with a teasing look on his face.

_“’LP,_ ’ huh…? Ya usually don’t start callin’ me _THAT_ til I gotcha _screamin’_ an’ _wailin’_ on yer back,” Launchpad leaned down and whispered in Drake’s ear. 

“Oh wait, I guess I _already have,”_ Launchpad snickered, jutting an accusatory finger into Drake’s shoulder, which was indeed flat against the mattress. Blushing wildly, Drake gasped, but what came out of his throat was a deep, angry growl. 

“I ain’t up in them guts _yet_ though…” Launchpad murmured, rolling the knife over in his hand, still dangerously close to his—Negaduck’s—neck. “And _that_ usually happens before any o’ yer loud hollerin’ does.” It wasn’t clear if he meant all that in a dirty way or in a murderous way, but Drake was just shivering with equal parts fear and arousal.

Fear and lust were no match for that flash of anger Drake felt rolling through his veins, though, and he clenched his fists. “How about you stop yer yammering, and get ON WITH IT, you fuck,” Drake spat, again inwardly shocked and dismayed at his words. Was Negaduck unable to see _MURDER_ an inch from his face? Or more accurately, an inch from his vulnerable neck? It was like his nemesis _WANTED_ to get stabbed—by his own guy, no less.

Then with a gulp, Drake thought, _Holy shit, maybe he DID,_ because the knife lifted again, and Drake nearly screamed once more as it slashed down, ripping down the whole length of his torso. 

_Am I gonna wake up now?_ Drake wondered. _Cause Negaduck’s body is just fucking DEAD—it’s been slashed to ribbons. Launchpad finally killed him._

But the only pain Drake felt was the split of a couple of feathers and a scratch or two against his skin. Other than that, the murder had been painless. The evil version of Launchpad was a merciful killer, it seemed.

Drake didn’t wake up, though. He was still here, laying on his back on the disgusting mattress, with Dream Launchpad straddled over his body. He glanced around in confusion, then looked down at his person.

Launchpad had slashed him, all right. But it was his _clothes_ that had been torn asunder and lay in ribbons, not him. The yellow blazer and red turtleneck beneath it had been slashed down the middle, and his heaving bare chest and belly were now out in the open—just like the arousal bobbing between his legs—and Launchpad, smirking above him, looked like he was _very much_ enjoying the view.

Drake panted against the mattress, glad to be alive. “Y-you asshole. Now I gotta get a new outfit!” _Wait, THAT was what was on his mind?!_

Launchpad tossed the knife aside, grinning. “Aw, you can just steal a new one, boss…”

Before Drake could snarl at him about how his ensemble was kind of _HARD TO REPLACE_ —he had to sew his own Darkwing costume by hand, so Negaduck probably did too—the big guy was nibbling at his neck, those sharp teeth tingling on his skin, threatening to cut into him, just like that big knife had been a few moments earlier. Launchpad licked and nipped, and dragged his teeth down Drake’s chest, whose feathers were just quivering in excitement. Drake lost himself in the heady sensations until he vaguely became aware that Launchpad was slowly but surely shifting lower and lower, and gasped when those rough hands pulled his thighs apart. Drake’s erection twitched once, twice, and then was engulfed in one wet swallow. 

“Ah- _aaahh!”_ He cried out, squirming as Launchpad gave him every bit as good a sucking as his own did back in Reality. _God, that tongue is so dirty…_ Launchpad knew exactly how to make Drake drool and thrash and feel like he was about to faint, and ooh, those little flicks of that tongue over the tip had him seeing stars and more of those rosy, plump hearts. With every loud slurp and long slick lick up his shaft, Drake recalled some of the dirty adventures he’d had with his sidekick so far, and though they hadn’t been sexually involved for too long, blowjobs were already in pretty regular rotation. _Mmm,_ Launchpad was VERY generous with those…and it seemed that Dream Launchpad was, too. This version also seemed to know _EXACTLY_ when Drake was getting too close, and right as Drake was about to start gasping, he quickly pulled off his cock with a wet smack.

“Don’t want the fun to end too quick, huh, Negs?” He smiled between Drake’s thighs, and reaching under Drake’s tail, pulled Negaduck’s cape up and wiped his mouth with it, like it was a big black-and-red napkin. Then he gave Drake’s erection a quick rub with the cape’s rough fabric, the scratchy pain of which made Drake shudder.

“Ow!! Ya tryin’ to sandpaper my dick, you little shit?” 

“Don’t wantcha to get too hot, boss. Otherwise you’ll be _waaaay_ too easy of a lay…”

Just as he was about to angrily retort to this—because he was _NOT_ AN EASY LAY, GODDAMMIT—Launchpad gripped him by the waist, and pulled him up and out of his shredded clothing, leaving it in a little heap on the mattress. Then he roughly tossed him back down, flipping him so he was on his belly, his ass stuck up in the air. Launchpad immediately grabbed two big handfuls of his ass, fondling and rubbing it between his big fingers, and Drake couldn’t help but shiver violently at how good it felt. 

“Mmm….” He hummed, enjoying the massage. He definitely liked it when LP paid attention—especially the rough kind—to this part of him. But he wasn’t ready for it when he felt Dream Launchpad plant a kiss on one of his cheeks.

“H-hey, nobody likes a kiss-ass…” He managed to choke out, but then he squealed when that kiss turned much naughtier, and some _very_ sharp teeth sank into his rump. “Uhnnnnn!” 

_Oh my God, he’d have teeth-marks down there for sure!_ Drake’s face immediately started burning just as hot as that love-bite _. How in the hell would he explain that, later? He couldn’t let his daughter see that! Would he have to wear pants for a few days? Shit, doing that’d be even HARDER to explain…_ Then he remembered that thankfully, all this was a dream and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Heh, sorry boss,” Launchpad chuckled from somewhere behind him, sounding not the least bit apologetic. “Couldn’t help gettin’ a little taste of some cake…” Drake could only growl angrily in protest, but moaned when he felt those strong hands grasping his bottom again, spreading his cheeks indecently wide. 

“Mmm, and lookit yer little tail…looks tasty too, like a little curl of whipped topping…” and though he felt fucking _ENRAGED_ at him teasing him like this, Drake gasped, because _holy shit,_ the big guy just, he _just_ —licked it—he _LICKED_ his tail! 

Immediately Drake started to squirm when he thought _, ooh,_ if he had gone down an inch, he’d have licked… _oh God!_ His own, Real Launchpad was a good boy and would never _imagine_ doing something so naughty, but what would _Dream_ Launchpad do?!

Launchpad’s breath was hot against Drake’s bottom. “Tastes almost as sweet, too…not as sweet as this, though,” and then Drake’s heart about _stopped_ when he slurped EXACTLY where Drake didn’t think he’d _DARE._

“Ah- _AAAHHH,”_ he cried, eyes crossing, as the dirty dream Launchpad lapped over his entrance just as casually as the real one might slurp on a sloppy, melting ice cream cone. He felt him lick several long wet stripes over it and up the length of his tail, which felt so good Drake’s knees were trembling, and he might have fallen over if Launchpad hadn’t been holding him up firmly by his spread ass cheeks. Then Drake _YELPED,_ when he felt that hot tongue settle back down over his entrance, rubbing flat against it, tasting, licking, making Drake’s pulse race in his ears. 

He didn’t think the feel of that tongue against his entrance could get any dirtier, but he let out a long, strangled cry when— _ohh, SHIT_ —he felt the tip start to lazily poke in and out, making his hot little hole wetter and wetter and spreading him wider and wider with each little flick and dip inside. That unbelievably naughty tongue kept dipping in deeper and deeper, and Drake moaned louder and louder with each inch it pressed in, until finally the whole length of it had to be inside him, because he could feel the burn of Launchpad’s rough stubble rubbing against his twitching, spread hole.

Drake was clawing at the mattress now, writhing, his back arching with every swirl of that hot wet tongue as it thrust in and out. _Holy shit, he was getting fucked by a tongue._ He could feel precum beading up and dribbling down his erection, his front just as wet as his backside. On the one hand, part of Drake was deeply ashamed, because WOW, he must be very perverted if he was having such vivid, smutty dreams like THIS. On the other hand, though, the other part of him—the part of him that was drooling and crying out in unadulterated ecstasy as Launchpad licked and slurped every naughty inch of his bottom—didn’t care in the least, because _GOD, this felt so good_.

“AAAHH, ooohhh, L-Launchpad…” he sobbed, rubbing his burning face against the stained mattress as he listened to those dirty, slobbering smacks of Launchpad alternately tasting him here, kissing and _OH GOD_ — _s-sucking!_ —his entrance there, then pressing the tip of his tongue in and out, and finally just hungrily plunging his whole tongue in deep, lapping his walls like they were dripping ambrosia. 

Considering it was his _ASS,_ they most _definitely_ weren’t, but he was impossibly wet with _something_ now, because as soon as Launchpad pulled out and off his rear, Drake could feel little trickles of hot liquid oozing out of his throbbing, stretched hole. He flushed a little, embarrassed, because he could feel it clenching, the flesh hot, desperately hungry for a hell of a lot more. It was probably all pink and slick, and given how his cock was twitching between his thighs, from Launchpad’s vantage point, he was probably getting an eyeful of nothing but wet pink cock and wetter, pinker hole, all of it making him look very much the dirty little slut.

Launchpad squeezed both his ass cheeks, pulling and stretching his flesh, and this caused even more hot juice to puddle from Drake’s spread hole down the backs of his thighs. He shivered, feeling even more exposed, and let out a throaty sigh that sounded way hornier than he wanted it to.

“Damn, Negs, yer actin’ like that was the first time ya ever got yer salad tossed,” Launchpad laughed, apparently heartily amused, his breathy words hot against Drake’s backside, the warmth making his hole tingle and clench even harder. For a second Drake was worried the jig was up—maybe in this dream he WOULD finally end up getting murdered, because there was no telling what Dream Launchpad would do if he found out he wasn’t really Negaduck. 

But that fear subsided when Launchpad licked up the whole length of his rear again, in one agonizingly long, wet slurp, gliding over his feathers, dipping in his hole just a tiny, teasy bit with the tip of his tongue, then slurping the rest of the way up his tail, so that every inch of his ass was tingling with hot desire. Then he pulled away again, and as Drake’s knees were quivering and knocking together, Drake moaned loudly at the loss. 

“Fuck, Negsy, if ya keep up that needy little virgin act, it’s really just gonna make me wanna keep doin’ it to ya…” He was nipping at Drake’s tail feathers now, nuzzling against Drake’s plush ass, and the sensation was making Drake’s eyes cross and his cock ache painfully.

But even though he _LOVED_ what the big lug was doing to him, Drake bristled at the word ‘needy.’ He didn’t want to seem _‘needy.’_ He didn’t _NEED_ anybody or anything, goddammit. 

So, getting his panting under control, he managed to choke out, “I-I’m NOT needy, you s-shit! F-fuck you!” The stuttering probably wasn’t too convincing, but he just HAD to say it. But as soon as he did, he got another flash of him yelling at his own Launchpad in the bedroom for something similar, and his stomach dropped with some odd feeling. _Probably guilt._

“Alright, alright, maybe yer not needy,” Launchpad said, as if in exhausted resignation, slowly rubbing his thumb over Drake’s wet hole. Drake was gasping, saliva drizzling down his beak in anticipation, but nothing went in. 

Launchpad sounded vaguely thoughtful. “But somethin’ about ya…it’s like yer bein’ a little _sweeter_ than normal, boss. Ya ain’t even _punched_ me all night. Hell, I thought fer sure ya’d stab me for that whole whipped toppin’ thing I said,” he chuckled. 

Drake felt his heart skip a few beats. _Holy shit, he really was onto him!_

“I-I’m not SWEET, you, you-ASSHOLE!” _Real convincing, Drake,_ he thought, wincing and almost clapping a hand over his face in embarrassment. _God, was he ever dead meat now._

A couple fingers tickled the edge of his entrance, and then he groaned when they easily slipped in an inch or so, stirring him a little, his wetness making juicy little _smack, smack, smack_ sounds with even the tiniest of motions.

The fingers left. “Heh, I dunno bout that, Negs.” And Drake could hear Launchpad slurping on something, and then he thought, _it was probably those fingers he just had dipping in his_ — ** _Fuuucck._** Drake’s loins felt like they were melting. His waiting, twitching bottom was sopping wet, and he felt drops of slick from both his ass and his cock drip steadily down his thighs, soaking into the mattress.

“Mmm,” Launchpad hummed behind him, his voice sultry. “Fuck, yer bein’ so sweet, it just makes me wanna mess ya up even harder…”

Then Drake heard the predictable, lurid sound of a zipper going down and the slump of pants hitting the floor, a belt buckle heavily striking other metal, perhaps the zipper’s teeth. He would have rolled his eyes at how cliché that was, but he couldn’t deny how those telltale dirty sounds still sent little ripples of desire down his spine, pulsing in his ass and sizzling up the length of his dick. 

_Holy shit, was he EVER ready to get a big fat helping of Launchpad. Dream or not. But he WOULDN’T beg for it. No sir._

Imagine his surprise when what he _didn’_ t get was a hot cock pushing into him, fucking him hard and deep into the mattress, but instead his whole body being tossed up in the air like a volleyball, and crushed suddenly against a solid object. His arms contorted, his spine and the whole rest of his back hurt, and his legs were spread up and out so far his hips cracked. Drake didn’t even want to know what kind of pretzel he’d turned into in a few blistering seconds. 

He slowly realized that the solid object was, of course, none other than Launchpad, gripping him from behind, holding Drake’s body tight against his sweaty chest, his beefy arms curled so tightly under Drake’s impossibly spread legs that Drake’s knees were smashed up in his own armpits. Now, Drake prided himself on being flexible, but good GOD—the pain of being crumpled up this way reminded Drake of his, _uh,_ unfortunately long track record of being horribly flattened by numerous people and objects— _and whatever the hell Stegmutt was_ — while doing his vigilante job. But he had never been _naked_ when all that was going on, nor had he been panting so rough and hot with what sounded very close to ecstasy. Because that was what was going on in this particular instance, as his slippery wet ass hovered dangerously over Launchpad’s huge, twitching arousal.

In a few short seconds, he got a brand new definition of what ‘ecstasy’ meant when this dirty dream version of Launchpad suddenly bucked his hips upwards, penetrating Drake so deeply every thought he ever had was just _GONE_ in a short, hot, slick instant.

Drake’s mind was usually a cluttered mess, full of anxiety over wanting to protect his family, raise his daughter right, do his superhero job better than anybody ever could (looking at YOU, Gizmoduck, you hack), bills he needed to pay and other money issues (like how in the hell he was gonna save for Gosalyn’s college fund), hide his secret identity, blow off the Muddlefoots—there was ALWAYS something. And of course, ever since they started dating, he wanted to make sure he could share some good quality private time with LP, but that wasn’t always easy either…

This dream, then, must be at least a little therapeutic, trying to heal his exhausted mind from all those stressors and then some. Drake figured this might be the case because the _SECOND_ Dream Launchpad thrust in so hard and deep that Drake felt the rough grind of his thick pubic feathers pounding and smacking against his wet, spread tailhole, _INSTANTLY_ there was the warm, blissful feeling of having no thoughts. _All of them_ —not just every worrisome thing, _all_ thoughts, pernicious or not, had been rudely, violently pushed out as soon as that fat cock pushed in with a sloppy wet smack. There was Nothing.

...

Well, not _nothing._

For one, he had only the sensation of being held up in the air, like he was floating and didn’t weigh an ounce.

Oh, and two— _COCK._ _Holy fucking shit,_ can’t forget that not-so-little detail. There was a whole _HELL_ of a lot of cock, more than capable of smashing this duck to mushy, blissed-out little bits. 

He couldn’t focus on _ANYTHING_ other than the searing hot, delicious, toe-curling sensation of thick, _juicy, mouth-wateringly **yummy**_ cock plunging into him wet and raw, fucking him wonderfully and absolutely _SENSELESS._ He’d been struck so intoxicatingly sex-dumb, if there had been a marquee lit up in his brain, that would be what it spelled out, in sizzling hot, curvy neon letters, blinding everything else in its blazing glory:

_C O C K._

It was like he only existed in this moment: with him weightlessly floating in the air and Launchpad’s fat, impossibly huge slice of heaven, pummeling his ass so hard his mind might as well have a sign on it that said _Out to Lunch._

And what a meal it was. Mmm, _God,_ there was so much _dick._

Juicy wet, hot, girthy dick slamming into him over and over and _OVER,_ spreading his insides and pushing in so rough and deep he vaguely wondered if that delicious cock was squashing his lungs flat. He was certainly gasping for breath like it had, drool dripping in long slimy strands from his gaping mouth as he blissfully stared past the confines of the room, seeing and comprehending a whole awful lot of glorious _nothing._

And _FUCK,_ the rapid pulls-out of that hot dick were every bit as tasty as each fast, white-hot, searing fuck-in—his walls hungrily clenching around nothing as Launchpad’s cock slipped _allllmost_ all the way out, tickling him and leaving him desperate and ravenous for yet another taste of being spread open almost painfully _wide_ and filled up again nerve-meltingly **_deep_** every time the cock pulled back.

But Launchpad kept the slippery wet tip always dipping _just_ past the tight initial ring of muscle at Drake’s entrance, teasing him relentlessly with the promise of more and more dick, even in the microseconds before the rest of that powerful cock slammed in with a hot wet squelch. Drake was so sopping wet by this point, precum and sweat and saliva and God knows what else was just gushing, running down from his pummeled, probably red-as-a-cherry, quivering ass cheeks, and with every bucking, violent thrust from Launchpad, fat droplets of the sloppy mixture was flicking onto his belly, onto his equally wet, throbbing erection, and probably spritzing all over Launchpad’s strong, straining thighs too. Holy fucking _God,_ Dream Launchpad was making a mess of him, that was for sure. Drake would wake up soaked in an embarrassing little puddle for sure, and he’d have to hurriedly wash the sheets… 

The pain of being scrunched up like this, spine contorted in a way that a near-middle aged duck shouldn’t be in— _err, he didn’t mean to say that, he was DEFINITELY still in his thirties, just, uh, don’t ask for a birth certificate_ —and knowing very well that if this wasn’t a dream, he’d be an aching wreck, crying for some painkillers tomorrow—none of that mattered. All of the sharp pain combined with the intense pleasure, melting into this perfect, heady bliss of some of the roughest, hottest sex he’d ever had. It was starting to feel _too_ good, because the hot pleasure building up in his loins was about to explode.

_Ooh, just a few more deep fucks in and he’d be **over,** oh God…_

“O-ohhh, LP, oooohh f-fuuucck,” he wailed, not caring about putting on a convincing Negaduck impression anymore, and with his needy— _wait no, he wasn’t needy!_ —whining, fully expected Launchpad, Dream one or not, to do his duty, _goddammit,_ and throttle him even harder, and keep giving him that mouthwatering dick so hard it would make Drake just erupt, completely flooding his belly and thighs with the sticky hot product of his desire. 

But as soon as Drake started whining out his pre-orgasmic cries, Launchpad suddenly stopped his violent thrusting _dead,_ and in a millisecond, pulled out with a sloppy wet slurp, and threw Drake, shocked and blinking, back down onto the bed, an errant spring ripping at his feathers as he landed flat on his back.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK??” He pawed uselessly at the cut on his arm where the spring had scratched him, and he shot a death glare up at Launchpad. His feverish desire started to ebb, and his cock ached painfully. _God, he wanted to orgasm._ But the feeling was passing, and he hadn’t gotten to. 

Launchpad raised an eyebrow at him, a half-grin playing on his scruffy mouth. _Oh God dammit._ Drake realized what the big idiot was up to: _he wasn’t gonna LET him finish, was he?_

“You miserable FUCK!” He screeched, pissed beyond belief. _HIS_ Launchpad, the _REAL_ one, always gave him what he wanted, God _DAMN IT!_ _HIS_ Launchpad wouldn’t do this to him! How DARE this version, even in a dream, even _THINK_ to treat him so mean! 

Then he flushed inwardly, realizing how…selfish and _spoiled_ all that sounded. He thought about the rare times LP teased and held out on him like this, trying to get him to beg and act all needy, and all he did was get mad at the big lug. M-maybe Drake deserved to have to beg for it, sometimes. Maybe having Drake writhe and beg and be DENIED was what turned LP on. He hadn’t really EVER thought about what excited his partner, and he felt a little bit ashamed. 

_Maybe…it wasn’t just about him?_

Drake shook his head violently, not really wanting to think about that. Instead of focusing on that tiny nagging sense of remorse any further, he just fumed, glaring up at Dream Launchpad, as if that would make any of it any better.

Suddenly Launchpad was on top of him, that damned knife back in his hand, running the edge along Drake’s vulnerable neck. “Don’t throw a tantrum, Negsy. You’ll get whatcha want, I promise.”

_W-was what he wanted…to be **murdered?!**_

Because with a lightning-fast flick of his wrist, Launchpad stabbed the knife upwards, and Drake was sure THIS time he was a goner. _I’m a dead duck, fry me up—I’m just fucking dead._ But then his vision got clearer, and what was left of Negaduck’s black mask fluttered to either side of the mattress in tatters, leaving Drake completely naked now. 

“Do ya gotta wreck my outfit EVERY time we fuck, you asshole?” Drake growled, shocked at what he was saying. _How did HE know that happened every time?_ Well, he imagined that it did, anyway.

“Sorry, boss,” Launchpad murmured, sounding _ALMOST_ sorry. “It’s just so fun seein’ ya get yer panties in a twist,” he hummed into Drake’s blushing neck, and with a quick shove, spread open Drake’s legs and made the smaller duck choke back a startled gasp as the slippery head of his thick cock nudged his entrance, pressing ever so slightly into his wetness. 

“Not that ya wear panties…” And as if to punctuate that fact, Launchpad shoved his fat cock back in between Drake’s bare, unprotected ass cheeks so hard and deep Drake heard his bones crack.

“Heh, I’d just cut ‘em to little shreds anyway…” he whispered, his cock pulsing and stirring around impossibly deep between Drake’s wet, spread thighs, all the while keeping his lips and the edge of the knife pressed against Drake’s flushed jugular. 

“Ah—ahhh!” Drake cried, mind both reeling and rejoicing at the pain and mouthwatering pleasure of being reamed deliciously full again. His hole was clenching hungrily, spread wide around the thick base of Launchpad’s throbbing cock, and Drake wished the big lug would grind those big hips and just start fucking him again already. He barely registered the nick of the knife against his neck— _oohh,_ it was all about Launchpad giving him that rough, wet fuck he wanted. 

_Mmm, this was perfect, now that he was pinned on his back, Launchpad between his legs—it was all just like he liked it_. He didn’t have to do a thing, he could just lie back and get a good pounding, like he was used to at home, in non-dream reality. He closed his eyes, more than ready for Launchpad to give him that pleasure, like he always did. Then Drake would wake up, maybe a bit wet and teeny bit embarrassed, and all of this would end up being what it was: just a memory of a particularly dirty dream.

But nothing happened. Launchpad wasn’t moving. His dick was very much still stuffed inside of Drake, but there was no movement, none of that delicious friction, _nothing._ _What the FUCK?_ For a moment, Drake wondered if it was possible to wake yourself up from fury alone.

Drake’s eyes flew open, and enraged, he glared up at Launchpad. Launchpad had laid his stupid knife down off to the side, and the bastard had gotten a cigarette from somewhere, and had just lit it. He was holding himself up with one buff, chiseled arm, and just stared back down at Drake as he started to smoke, with that annoying, toothy half-grin on his handsome face.

“Somethin’ wrong, Negs?” And just as Drake thought he might, the fucker blew smoke in his face.

Drake didn’t blink, though. He was too pissed off to be put off by some mild nuisance. “AREN’TCHA in the MIDDLE of something, you piece of shit?!” He didn’t need to even try to sound like Negaduck this time. The ire was real, even if this dream was not. 

“Hmm. I think so?” Launchpad replied mockingly, as if he _literally_ wasn’t in the middle of Drake right now, and rolled his hips, giving Drake a few precious deep fucks in and languid, exquisite pulls out, each dirty back-and-forth motion making sloppy, smacking sounds that only made Drake’s groin burn hotter. Drake had no choice but savor the few gloriously wet pumps in and out of that delicious cock like they were life-giving drops of water in a desert. 

“Unnhhh,” Drake moaned at the agonizingly brief seconds of bliss, then immediately growled in protest when Launchpad stopped giving him that dick almost as soon as he started.

“Why in the hell do you keep stopping, you teasing—”

“Well, I was thinkin’, somebody hasn’t said the magic words yet,” he whispered in Drake’s ear, the smoke from his mouth flooding Drake’s nostrils. Amazingly, he didn’t cough, probably because Negaduck’s wrecked body was used to the smoke, and probably a hell of a lot worse.

“W-what the fuck are you talking about, you idiot? Aah-ahhh…” He managed to get the words out, but Drake couldn’t help but whimper loudly when Launchpad pulled out again completely, leaving him painfully empty, his ass wiggling and desperate for another taste. _Just a little more._

“I’m just thinkin’ it might be a little more fun _FOR ME,_ if ya asked me all nice for it. Maybe _BEGGED_ me a little.” Launchpad’s eyes burned just as hot as the tip of the cigarette he held in the corner of his mouth. Drake was so hungry, he almost considered the suggestion.

But not unlike his nemesis, Drake’s pride was greater than his lust. “You must be out of your DAMN MIND if you think I’m gonna—”

Then Drake thought again about HIS Launchpad, how he might want the same thing. This dream was really making him confront about how selfish he was in bed, wasn’t it? _Goddamned psychological bullshit._

“C’mon, boss, it would make me so hot if _Lord Negaduck_ said 'purty please'…” Launchpad’s lilt was joking, but his face looked serious. He looked like he might be waiting for a reply as he ground out his cigarette on the mattress, right next to Drake’s shoulder. 

_Him, BEG? There was no way in HELL—_ Drake was about to angrily protest, maybe beat his fists against the big dummy’s chest, but before he could move or start yelling, Launchpad was kissing and biting his neck, his teeth, like before, a little too sharp, the edges nicking him and making him moan.

Then the scary version of Launchpad sounded strangely... _vulnerable._ “It’s just, sometimes I just wantcha to lemme know ya _NEED_ me,” he murmured, nuzzling and scraping his stubble against Drake’s cheek feathers, which again startled Drake with its intimacy, and he felt his cheeks get hot.

_Was there such a thing, intimacy between psychos?_

“And that goes for shit other than just FUCKIN’, too, ya know. I gotta helluva lot more on my resumé than just fuckin’ yer ass,” he growled, and wrapped a giant hand around Drake’s neck, and squeezed tight. So tight Drake couldn’t breathe. 

As his air dwindled, Drake thought two things:

_1) this Launchpad knew the word ‘resumé’ and 2) that intimacy thing? Well, considering I’m about to be choked to death, I spoke too soon, I guess._

He felt pangs of guilt welling up inside him, just as he struggled for air. _Damn, it sounds like Negaduck takes this guy for granted just as much as I probably do to my own sidekick. Honestly, that’s kinda shitty,_ he thought, tears pricking his eyes as the face of his sidekick, best friend, lover…hell, maybe even _soulmate,_ resonated in his mind. _If I ever wake up from this dream, I need to give him a little more thought. About **his** wants, and **his** needs… _

But just as he thought he was going to pass out— _or possibly, wake up_ —Launchpad released his grip.

“It’s a little too early to be callin’ it a night, ain’t it, boss? Both of us ain’t gotten what we want yet,” he murmured, a note of sultry amusement in his rumbling voice.

Seeing an opportunity, in a lightning-quick flash, Drake grabbed the abandoned knife near his shoulder, and pointed it threateningly, the razor-sharp edge nudged dangerously against Launchpad’s thick neck. Inwardly, Drake was deeply disturbed by his own action, but Launchpad grinned, seemingly used to it.

“Still feisty after all, huh? Good ta know…” He just stared deep in Drake’s eyes, not caring a bit at how the knife was grazing his skin. His long hair had fallen out of its ponytail and the mussed, thick red strands were framing his handsome face. Drake felt his cheeks burn and his heart race—dirty Dream Launchpad was too damn attractive for his own good. 

He was pressed up against Drake’s entrance again, his cock grazing his wetness, and _FUCK,_ Drake couldn’t ignore how his loins were just burning with desire, wanting it so, _so much._ But damn it all, it didn’t look like he’d get things his way, like he was used to.

“So how ‘bout it, Negs? _We gotta deal?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Murder an inch from his face" is a quote from Patton Oswalt's "My Weakness is Strong" comedy set, where he is discussing, of all things, the pettiness of an angry comedy magician. I don't know why I keep quoting random stuff like this, but it's one of my favorite lines.


	5. Shadow Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the continuation of the smut from the previous chapter. Drake reluctantly agrees to Nega-Launchpad's request, but in doing so, he starts to realize how he could make some changes in his "real" romantic life: instead of always taking, he could give LP in the regular world some well-deserved pleasure, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of went off the rails in Shadow Part 2 and this chapter, because there are a lot more feels here than I originally planned. Oops. Well, uh, I really hate to say it, but that's just gonna make the last chapter a little awkward...Don't hope for a "good" ending, folks.

_“We gotta deal?”_

Launchpad’s sultry voice echoed in Drake’s brain, and Drake considered his options. If he went along with Launchpad’s request, he’d get a big, sloppy helping of some of the tastiest dick you could hope for, but the big guy wanted him to act all… _needy_ and, **_urgghh_** … _beg_ him for it. Damn, if he could just manage to ignore his baser instincts, his ego would remain intact, which for _him,_ obviously took top priority. After all, Drake wasn’t a begger, he just took what was _RIGHTFULLY_ given to him. _Pfft._ He didn’t _NEED_ to say “please.”

But no matter how stubbornly he clung to his principles, he just couldn’t ignore how with each of his labored breaths, his dirty dream lover’s cock was constantly nudging, squishing against his tailhole, each tiny rub oozing a little bit of slick over his entrance, making him wetter and wetter. And holy fuck, he was already so hot and wet, and even if his stubborn mind didn’t want to admit it, his _BODY_ was a little tattletale, betraying how much he needed that cock YESTERDAY. Drake gulped, his face and loins scorching like the surface of the sun. _Fuck, maybe he WAS needy._

_Ooh, was there EVER a duck as tortured as him?_ Squirming uncomfortably, Drake scrunched up his eyes, biting his lip. But he _wasn’t_ pouting, he was just…thinking. All the while, there was that annoying, insistent throbbing between his legs. 

…

_Oh, God **damn it.**_

Drake felt the knife wobbling in his hand, quivering just like his waiting, desperate thighs, and he finally growled in resignation. “F-FINE!” And he flung the weapon towards the wall, where it lodged into the cracked surface. “But no more choking me out, you asshole. Or _YOU’LL_ be the one begging, only it’ll be for your _goddamned life.”_ Drake’s stomach churned—he didn’t mean to take it THAT far, but consider whose body he was in…

Despite the death threat, Launchpad’s eyes lit up like it was his birthday. For a brief second, Drake thought the big scary guy looked as dopily happy-go-lucky as the Real LP, his big sweetheart, which made Drake’s heart beat uncontrollably, and it was all he could do to hurriedly look away. _Jeez, was getting his way really gonna make him THAT happy? How ridiculous could you get?_

Then he nearly swooned as he felt his entrance beginning to spread, the hot tip of Launchpad’s cock pressing a teeny tiny bit inside. _Ooohhh…. **God,** give me more. Holy fuck, I want it so bad._ But admitting that was gonna be torture for this prideful duck.

He looked up at Launchpad, who was now pushing one of Drake’s legs open even wider with one strong hand, and the other was slowly, sensually rubbing up his front, his long fingers pulling a little too sharply at the thick feathers on his chest. A few loose ones fluttered to either side of him. 

“Uh…are we gonna stay like this…?” Drake asked, incredulously. He’d half-expected to be thrown like a ragdoll up in the air again, or maybe slammed up against that rotted wall while he was bent to Launchpad’s will. He’d lose even _MORE_ feathers that way, and he’d be lucky if his legs didn’t end up in knots.

“Whaddya mean, boss?” In the dim light, Dream Launchpad’s eyes looked almost soft, and if Drake hadn’t been able to see some of those fangs sticking out the corners of his mouth, he would have looked every bit like HIS Launchpad, so sweet and kind. Drake’s heart thumped wildly, and he wished he could just wake up and be with LP for real. _I miss you, LP…_

He rudely scoffed, trying to ignore his thudding heart and the butterflies running amok in his stomach. “Well, if yer gonna make me _BEG_ like you say you are, then why aren’t ya bending me over backwards or more of that weird contortionist shit?”

“Well, that’s cuz I know this position’s yer favorite, boss…” At first Drake thought Launchpad was being sarcastic— _he HAD to be, come on, Negaduck, on his BACK?—_ but there wasn’t a hint of mirth in that murky voice. 

_Wait, WHAT?_

The big guy was leaning forward, pressing his burly chest against him, kissing and gnawing a little with those sharp fangs at the hollow of Drake’s neck again, but the sting and sizzling little jolts of pleasure from those piercing teeth wasn’t what floored Drake at the moment. 

It was the whole _RIDICULOUS_ idea that Negaduck, lord of the Negaverse, the epitome of evil, liked… ** _missionary._** Hell, he didn’t just like it—it was his FAVORITE. _Next you’ll tell me my evil adversary has a sweet tooth, too,_ Drake smirked inwardly. _HA!_ As Gos might have said with her weird indecipherable slang, _Double-you tea eff._

Then again, Drake thought, Negaduck’s preferences shouldn’t have been too surprising, because that was exactly what he liked, too. And Dream Launchpad HAD said something earlier about how Negaduck “hollered” when he got him on his back, after all. Maybe something so sweet and domestic was a weird kink for the otherwise dangerous villain, and his right-hand man went right along with it. It sounded like maybe Dream Launchpad did a hell of lot of things Negaduck wanted, but it probably wasn’t the other way around. Drake felt those pangs of guilt again, as this dream seemed to be showing him how their disturbing relationship dynamics mirrored his own with the Real LP. 

“Mmm, Negs, ya ready to tell me what I wanna hear?” Launchpad’s sultry voice rumbling in his ear interrupted his reverie, snapping him back to Dreamland. “I got somethin’ you want, in exchange…” And once again, Drake was jolted back to the exquisite sensation between his legs, of the wet press of tasty cock pushing, spreading him just a little, making little sloppy squishes with each flick against his wet little hole. 

“F-fuck…” he murmured, savoring every juicy little smack, and Launchpad gave him a teeny TINY little bit more, maybe a half inch, and Drake’s lips parted, just as his entrance was parting ever so slightly around that hot tip. “Aaahhh,” he moaned involuntarily, eyes crossing at Launchpad’s teasing. God, this was _infuriating!_

_How the fuck does he even have that much control over that huge dick? You’d think it’d be all-in or all-out with this guy._ Preferably, he’d give Drake a lot of both, consecutively and rapid-fire. 

He was panting in time with every hot little rub. But the cock refused to go in even a millimeter more, and his walls were clenching desperately, and that sweet bundle of nerves deep inside his ass wanted so bad to get some of that delicious rubbing that his rim was hogging. 

“I’ll give ya plenty more, ya just gotta say…” Launchpad was teasing him, voice breathy, and sounding just like the Real Launchpad did in Drake’s embarrassing memories. “C’mon, it ain’t so hard to say it…”

But it _WAS._ Drake gritted his teeth as Lust and Pride battled it out in his subconscious. He needed to preserve his dignity, but GOD, THAT _DICK…._

He had to acknowledge though, that it really wasn’t _JUST_ the insatiable desire pooling in his gut that made him reconsider his stubborn attitude.

It was the look of Launchpad’s pleading eyes that urged him on, too. Even if he was the strange, rough, dream version, he was STILL Launchpad, with those same beautiful eyes, in them an important question, asking if Drake would do this for him. He was begging him to beg a little. Pleading for him to plead, just a bit. Launchpad—here and _especially_ in real life—NEEDED him to be needy for him, and just admit it already.

Because Drake really did need Launchpad. Not just for _sex,_ either, like the Dream one said before with the bit about his resumé. Seriously, where would Drake be without his big, sweet sidekick? Probably dead, or if not that, he probably wouldn’t even amount to half the man he imagined in his grandiose fantasies, superhero or not. He’d be out his best friend, and Gosalyn would be out her second father, and…

_He just needed to say it._

It was embarrassing, and degrading, but goddammit, he was gonna try. And since it was a dream, it was a way for Drake to practice what he needed to say in real life. Drake wanted, no, NEEDED, to be a better lover and a better friend. Launchpad deserved that much and a hell of a lot more.

_Well, here goes._ Deep in his subconscious, he mentally punched out his overgrown version of Pride, sending it reeling into submission while the other Deadly Sins looked on.

“P-please,” he murmured, gazing up into Dream Launchpad’s eyes, his own by now brimming and glassy with tears. Negaduck’s deep voice, rumbling from his own throat, saying something so out of character was honestly shocking. But it didn’t stop him. Launchpad’s eyes were wide and his mouth gaping as Drake continued.

“I need it…No, I need _YOU,_ LP. I’d be lost without you,” he whispered in Negaduck’s gravelly voice, heart thudding harder and faster as he confessed. Launchpad’s face was already as red as his hair when finally, Drake dropped the final, but necessary bomb:

“I love you, LP.” 

He’d told his own, Real Launchpad that many times—mostly right after some blissed-out sex—but he needed even this Dream version to know he _meant_ it, and in that attempt, he grasped Launchpad’s hand, gazing at it as he held it tenderly against his heart, hoping that maybe that small, vulnerable gesture would help him show it. He’d have to show it in other ways too of course, but maybe this would mark the start.

Tentatively, a now _very_ blushy Drake peered back up at his dream lover.

Launchpad looked like he had been shot. The red had drained from his face, and even though his feathers were white, he still looked strangely pale. Kind of blue and sick. 

_Oh, SHIT,_ Drake thought, cringing. He’d completely forgotten that he was **_Negaduck_** , at least in this dream. Probably, Negaduck never said ANYTHING even remotely akin to “I love you” to THIS version of Launchpad, and his likelihood of ever doing so were about a snowball’s chance in hell. _This was bad._ Drake needed to dial that shit back, and fast.

“Uhh, d-did I say ‘I love you?’ Err, I meant, I’d LOVE **_FOR_** YOU…to you know, start FUCKING ME now, you asshole…” He murmured, and crossed his arms, trying to look haughty while nervous sweat rolled down his burning face. “I said all that mushy _SHIT_ you wanted, didn’t I?”

A little life returned to Launchpad’s face, and Drake shivered because now the big lug had the hungriest, most dangerous look in his eyes. Starved tigers on the prowl looked less frightening. Then Drake looked down, and saw a reason _WHY_ he might have looked so pale a second ago: it might have been Drake’s imagination—and maybe some _very_ sinful wishful thinking—but Launchpad’s groin now looked so tantalizingly plump and red, it was as if all the blood had rushed to his crotch, making his arousal swell even bigger. 

_Holy fuck._

It certainly looked like Launchpad hadn’t been kidding when he said Negaduck being needy and vulnerable with him would make him hot, and lo and behold, he wasn’t lying—because there, pulsing red-hot and pressed up between Drake’s thighs, was the not-so-little proof. _Ooh, shit, was even the tip of it larger than before?_ Because it was hurting a little as it roughly kissed into Drake’s wetness, the dripping precum from the slit seeping into his entrance, making him almost downright gushy with slick.

_Uh oh_ —

Drake had the beginnings of a thought, but in _half a second_ his thighs were violently thrown apart, spread achingly and painfully wide, and with a loud, sloppy wet _SMACK_ and the rough grind of groin feathers rubbing against his own, he was once AGAIN filled up to his eyes with swollen hot, throbbing cock. Then it snapped back, leaving him desperate and so hungrily empty for a few milliseconds before he was slammed satisfyingly full again. And again. _And again._

_Mmm, apparently the big guy had accepted Drake’s part of the bargain._

And what Drake got in exchange was _heavenly,_ made all the sweeter given the rough setting of this hellish dreamscape. His burly chest heaving, Launchpad was pressed up against him almost suffocatingly so, but Drake was breathless for another reason, focusing only on each slick slap of those solid, muscular thighs against his bottom and each thick pump of that hefty cock spearing so deliciously deep in his ass, rubbing his sweet spot on every searing fuck-in— _GOD, he couldn’t get enough_. 

Even though the big guy was also pulling sharply on his chest feathers and had Drake’s legs spread so far apart his hips were aching painfully, Drake didn’t care in the least. To his lust-addled mind, there was nothing but Launchpad’s yummy cock almost outright _punishing_ his slippery wet hole over and over, with the infinite juicy sounds of frenzied hot fucking: smacking and gushing and squelching, loud and obscene and so mouthwateringly tasty Drake was drooling buckets. They were rolling so hard and so furiously —rusty springs just squealing underneath their sweaty, frenetic bodies—that if he hadn’t been so distracted by that delicious pounding in his ass, Drake might have worried some errant springs from the mattress would fling out while they were frantically bouncing and skewer him, though probably _nothing_ could do that harder than Launchpad was right now. The blazing neon sign in Drake’s sex-fogged imagination went up like before, with his mind going blissfully white again as Launchpad gave him such a blisteringly hot dicking he thought maybe even the real Negaduck had never gotten it as good. 

In fact, Drake _knew_ he probably hadn’t, because every so often, between the irresistibly tasty, thick smacks of cock pummeling his hungry, sopping hole, he would swallow a gigantic amount of his pride— _which Negaduck probably never could_ —and he’d softly moan something slutty like “Mmm, give it to me harder, LP” or “I need it, I NEED it, ooohhh, _pleaaaaaasee,”_ which sounded so goddamn embarrassing it made Drake’s ears burn and his stomach do weird flips. 

That had been the deal, though, and Drake was a duck of his word. He, ahem, wasn’t _ACTUALLY_ so needy that he was crying all of this out uninhibited, whining and moaning for more and more— _oh **GOD,** give me more_—of that hot loving as his partner rolled above him. _Nothing of the sort._

But Drake quickly learned that his ego taking a massive hit was worth the embarrassment and then some to see how his blushy little neediness and loud, wanton begging so easily reduced his lover to a puddle: as soon as he coquettishly mewled out _“Ooooh, give it to me, give it to me, oh fuck, oh pleaaaasee”_ or _“Mmm, LP, mooorree, I want moooree,”_ Launchpad’s mouth would wildly twist in pleasure and he’d get so red in the face, Drake could swear he saw hearts in his eyes as he softly muttered “F-fuck…!” It was shocking to see even this rough, murderous version of LP look and sound so lovestruck with every one of Drake’s embarrassingly needy, whiny wails and cries, all sounding even stranger coming from Negaduck’s velvety deep voice. 

After a few of these slutty little moans and wails—which, though he didn’t want to admit it, as Drake’s arousal burned hotter and hotter, were starting to match how needy he _really_ felt—Launchpad was panting just as hard as Drake, red-faced and looking every bit like he was about blow a gasket, and maybe even his hot juicy load too, because he grasped Drake’s hips tight enough to bruise him, and started drilling Drake so rough and hard the smaller duck’s ass cheeks were red-hot from all the sharp smacks from the big guy’s thighs and the constant, hot friction of the mattress rubbing against his quivering, well-pounded bottom. Dream Launchpad was pumping him full of that tasty cock so hard and deep Drake imagined that a particularly rough fuck-in might accidentally pummel him through the ruined mattress—the wretched thing didn’t look like it could withstand many more bouts of, _uh,_ rigorous activity—and Drake’s abused rear would end up slapping hard on the unforgiving wooden floor, getting a jabbing assful of not just that tasty hot dick but some painful splinters too. 

Hell, the floor _itself_ threatened to give out: Drake kept hearing the floorboards just creaking and groaning under every wet thrust and slapping grind of their thunderous lovemaking, and the tantalizingly dirty sounds only made his desire flare even hotter. At this point he didn’t care if they rolled so hard they collapsed through the rotted floorboards to the first floor—he just didn’t want Launchpad to EVER STOP, because _HOLY FUCK, it felt so, so good._ But more important than his own pleasure was that Drake was starting to learn how good it felt to know that he could make his lover hot too, with just a couple breathy words, no matter how embarrassing they might be. 

_Like “Mmm, don’t ever stop…” And “Ooh, FUCK, it feels so good…”_ Passionate phrases like these that were already in his head— _had ALWAYS been in his head_ —just spoken out loud, letting Launchpad know _every bit_ how much he wanted him. _Needed him._ And that _WASN’T_ a shameful thing, even if it felt like it to a certain duck with a sky-high ego who had always prided himself so much on being independent.

With every needy moan like this, even though his cheeks were just burning with equal parts shame and desire, Drake also started giving Launchpad the sultriest stares he could muster—his eyes burning into Launchpad’s, his stare demanding for the big guy to _give him **MORE**_ just as much as his dirty moans were—and the combination had the larger duck, despite his rough and tough exterior, gazing down dreamily at him, a lustful haze over his features, that made him look both dangerously hungry and at the same time, a little goofy and punch-drunk, a victim to the sharp jab of Cupid’s arrow. And seeing that not only made Drake’s desire hit a fever pitch, it made him desperate to give that same pleasure to _his_ LP. _The real LP._

_Who knew that letting himself be a little vulnerable would make all the difference in the world?_ He couldn’t wait to try this out when not in the context of a dream. Because if he could make this scary version of Launchpad weak in the knees, he was sure he’d completely floor the Real LP, who was a big sweetie. Mmm, he hoped to God he remembered in the morning. If it was early enough, maybe he could enact it pronto, give his big silly pilot something he’d think was even yummier than breakfast, and _that was saying something._

_The big lug would never know what hit him,_ Drake thought, drooling a little at even the imagining. Maybe some wandering hands would end up in somebody’s boxer shorts, and when that somebody jolted awake, Drake could get down on his knees and beg and _MOAN_ and show him exactly how ‘ _needy’_ he could be. He could use his mouth for a hell of lot more than just spouting out superhero soliloquies, after all. 

Even outside the bedroom, him showing his sidekick how much he wanted, needed, and depended on him would be something the real LP would probably never get enough of, and even if it made Drake feel vulnerable, he could learn to swallow his pride if it meant he could do something good for his big sweet pilot, who was forever doing _everything_ good for Drake. It was high time for him to start returning all the favors LP had been doing for him since they started dating, and hell, long before that…it was time to give HIM a little pleasure, instead of just wanting to get it all the time.

And speaking of _getting it_ —holy _FUCK,_ **_he_** definitely was right now, and his needy moaning was getting dirtier and dirtier with every slurp and gushy smack of that thick cock pounding between his legs. 

“Ooh, FUCK me, _FUCK ME!”_ He whined, thrashing below his dream lover, all kinds of loud, embarrassing moans escaping his drooling mouth. “F-fucking WRECK me...oohh, _Launchpaaaad!_ OH _GODDDDDDD!”_ By now, he couldn’t keep his wailing and squeals of pleasure in check, and each sob and moan were making him _every bit_ as hot as Launchpad, who was groaning in ecstasy as he rolled above him.

“F-fuck…! F-fuucck...!” Launchpad kept muttering, and finally slowed his torturous pace a bit. For a second, Drake thought maybe he had started to cum, but he didn’t feel those telltale hot spurts of spend washing inside him yet. Still pumping languidly between Drake’s legs, Launchpad grasped at Drake’s arousal, which was twitching and wet on his sweaty belly. Then he leaned down and whispered in Drake’s ear.

“All yer dirty hollerin’ is about ta make me lose it,” he murmured, the whispery, dirty words and how his hand was massaging his dick making Drake blush wildly with pleasure. “But I gotta reputation to upkeep.”

_What was he talking about?_ Drake wondered, then felt the big guy’s cock slip out of him, and with a loud squeal of the mattress, Drake felt himself being flipped over and pulled up so he was on his hands and knees. Then with a rough shove, Launchpad pushed Drake’s shoulders painfully down into the mattress, so now it was just his tingling ass hiked up in the air.

Then Drake felt Launchpad yank his tail upward, his hole stretching with the rough tugging, and the big guy used that opportunity to slam his cock all the way back in so fast and hard Drake saw stars. _Ooh shit, he would never get used to that first searingly hot, tasty fuck-in. Holy GOD._

“Now I know ya like bein’ on yer back, boss, but this way I can really getcha good,” he said, reaching under Drake’s quivering belly, where his cock was just pulsing, and grabbed the whole length of it, squeezing it in his huge, meaty hand. And it DID seem the angle was much easier for jerking him off, Drake thought, drooling as the big guy began jerking him expertly, occasionally swiping his thumb over the slit.

“I ain’t no gentleman by any means, but I ain’t boutta bust a nut before I can get _YOU_ off,” he said crudely, and Drake moaned as he matched his pumping of Drake’s cock in time with his thrusting between Drake’s pummeled ass cheeks, both of which got faster and faster with every slick slap against wet ass cheeks and hot squishing of cock between thick fingers. 

“After all, when yer with ME, _bottoms_ cum first.” And then as if to punctuate the word ‘bottom,’ with his other hand, Dream Launchpad gave Drake a loud, tasty spank across the rear, and Drake _SCREAMED,_ unable to contain the intense pleasure wracking his body from that sizzling swat.

“AAA-AAAAHHH!” **_God,_** it felt so good. Drake didn’t really want to think about some of the psychological reasons WHY he liked it— _it might be connected to his goddamned neediness_ —but getting his ass smacked, especially when fucking, made him hotter than hell. Like all the begging and needy moaning, it was embarrassing as all get-out, but the more it happened, the better it felt and the less he cared, his huge ego be damned. Hell, maybe BECAUSE his ego was so overgrown, he _CRAVED_ delicious humiliation like this. 

But it was a little weird that _NEGADUCK_ seemed to like it, too, and yet, Dream Launchpad didn’t seem a bit surprised when Drake squealed and wailed in that deep, sultry voice as he gave him the triple threat of pleasure: spanking, jerking, and fucking him all at the same time, turning this drooly, blushy little duck into a big wet puddle. 

Drake had no idea how the big guy could manage all three at once, but _HOL-Y FUCK,_ Drake wasn’t ready for it in the least. His prostate pounded, his cock jerked, and his ass smacked with both thighs and a hot hand just _fucking obliterated_ him. In just a few brief moments he started cumming, his voice even deeper as he yelped out his orgasm, his mind going blissfully white before he came with a hot _splurt, splurt, splurt_ into Launchpad’s endlessly pumping hand.

“Mmm-hmm, that’s what I thought,” Dream Launchpad said, sounding satisfied with his good work. Earlier, that smug teasing might have pissed him—and Negaduck—off, but now Drake no longer felt that combative energy; maybe even _Negaduck_ could get such a good fucking he didn’t want to fight anymore. Damn, if only this was Real and not a dream, because Drake would have a much easier time as Darkwing Duck if Negaduck got laid a hell of a lot more often. Then again, there were times where Negaduck would disappear for long periods, but surely _that_ wasn’t because of—

“Now, boss, now that yer all nice and creamy up front, it's about time I made a mess of yer cute little ass too,” Launchpad said behind him, and Drake felt his bottom being gripped roughly, his spend smeared onto one of his ass cheeks, but that pain didn’t even compare to that which happened next. His bottom half was lifted so that his legs couldn’t touch ground anymore, and Launchpad started pummeling his ass so hard and deep all his rough fucking earlier seemed gentle in comparison. Oh _GOD,_ it was like his guts were in a blender, stirred and shredded to bits by this monster of a cock. But even though he’d just orgasmed, the constant hot, deep pounding in his ass had his eyes crossing just as they were filling up with tears from all the pain. 

“Unnnnhhhhh!!’ He cried, tears soaking into the dirty mattress, but his sobbing only seemed to encourage the big guy, who fucked him even harder.

Then he _SQUEALED_ again as Launchpad yanked on his tail feathers once more, pulling several of them out. “F-fuuuucck!” As he yanked, Drake felt his hole squeeze down hard on Launchpad’s huge thrusting cock, which only made the big guy groan and fuck him harder and faster. Then the scary version of LP leaned forward, and sank his jaws down onto Drake’s trembling shoulder, and Drake screamed at the pain of the hot bite, and as with the sharp yanking on his tail, his hole puckered even tighter around that gloriously huge, thick cock as it pumped into him fast and hot as a piston. Feeling himself squeezing down tighter and tighter, with such an iron grip on that blisteringly hot dick with every jolt of pain he got, Drake had an idea why Launchpad, who was groaning behind him, might be inflicting these painful attacks on him. 

“D-damn,” Launchpad panted above him, fucking him all the while, “Yer clampin’ onto me so _tight_ it feels almost like yer about ta snap my dick off…”

Some of the anger came back, and his eyes glassy with painful tears, Drake glared over his shoulder up at Launchpad, who was thrusting behind him in earnest, each squishy pump making hot, juicy sounds of _SMACKSMACKSMACK._ “D-do you WANT me to, you big idiot? I might be able to ARRANGE that.”

Then Launchpad leaned forward, and squeezed him tight against his burly chest, and even though it felt suffocating, Drake flushed at the embrace. “Ya know I wouldn’t want _anybody else_ to do it,” Launchpad said, his stubble burning where it rubbed against Drake’s neck, and Drake could only moan a little in reply.

Launchpad gripped him by the waist now, and his violent thrusting reached a fever pitch, fucking Drake like his very life depended on it. Drake thought his ass would split in two at how hard he was being drilled, and he wailed in both pain and a little bit of pleasure that prickled at the edges of that sharp, incessant pounding. 

“Aah, aahh…” Launchpad groaned in pleasure, and finally, as his cock stilled and he began filling Drake full of cum, he yelped out something both familiar and VERY strange:

_“D-DRAAAKE!”_

Drake was so floored by the name— _HIS_ name—that he didn’t even acknowledge the copious amounts of thick, hot cum filling his ass, rounding out his belly, and squishily dripping out of his hole around Launchpad’s softening cock.

**_HOLY SHIT._** _Did he KNOW it was him, after all?_ For a second, Drake feared for his life. Well, at least his life in this dream.

Launchpad pulled out, and hot cum immediately oozed out of Drake's bottom, drizzling down his thighs onto the mattress as soon as it no longer had anything to block it. His chest heaving from the aftershocks of all the sex and his heart hammering away in terror, Drake turned over slowly, deathly afraid of what was going to happen next. Cringing, he looked up at his soon-to-be murderer.

But Drake found it infinitely strange that instead, _Launchpad_ was the one who looked frightened.

“S-sorry, boss, I uh…know ya don’t like it when I…uh, call you _that."_ _That's **right,**_ Drake thought, his mind reeling. _That was Negaduck's **real** —_

"Just don’t go burnin' the house down again! Y-ya can stab me for it if ya like…” Launchpad interrupted Drake's startled revelation, and grabbed the knife from where it was lodged in the ruined wall, and rolled it over in his hand, so that the handle was facing Drake and the blade ominously pointing toward himself. His face was flushed from all of their lovemaking, and his body shone with sweat as he anxiously peered down at Drake. In Launchpad's alarmed expression, Drake saw another flash of his own Launchpad, the Real one, so innocent and sweet.

Accepting the big guy's offer, Drake snatched the handle of the knife, and drawing it up into the air, slashed down violently. Launchpad winced as the knife sailed down, likely preparing himself for the worst.

The knife was embedded in the mattress, right next to Launchpad’s bulging thigh. Launchpad looked shocked that he hadn't been skewered. Drake smirked. _Two can play that little fake-out game._

Then Drake leapt forward, and flung his arms around the big lug’s neck. By now, it was clear that he wasn’t in danger, and he shouldn’t worry about it anymore. This was _his_ dream, after all, and he knew that _no_ _version_ of Launchpad would ever kill him, no matter what he did or said. He looked into Launchpad’s inquisitive eyes, and kissed the big guy passionately. A part of Negaduck that still wanted to be heard insisted he give him a couple bites to the lip, and so Drake half-complied with a couple of light nibbles. 

When he pulled away, Launchpad still looked a little confused. “Are ya feelin’ okay, boss? Ya didn’t take more o’those drugs, didja?

Drake nuzzled against Dream Launchpad’s neck. Somehow, he knew he would wake up soon, so he figured it didn't matter if he kept up the whole 'Negaduck' façade anymore. “Negaduck doesn’t let you kiss him that much, does he?”

Dream Launchpad looked flabbergasted as he peered down at the smaller duck in his lap. “Wh-What?”

_Let him be confused,_ Drake thought. “Like me, he probably doesn’t want to seem vulnerable, so he steers clear of a lot of the mushy stuff. Showing you care kind of does a number on the old ego, after all. Well, then, maybe now Darkwing’s got one up on him, huh? _As usual!”_ He then cuddled against the Dream version of Launchpad even closer. _Soon, he'd be reunited_ _with the Real one, and he could show him how much he needed him, too._

“What in the hell are ya talkin’ about, Negs?” Then an exasperated look settled on Launchpad’s features. “Aw fuck, is this that ‘role play’ stuff again? Ya know all that shit confuses the fuck outta me.”

Drake just smiled at him, and Launchpad sighed. “Don’t tell me ya want me to dress up like that scarf-wearin’ idiot again…Plus, where the fuck do ya even get shoes like that?”

Drake put his hand on Dream Launchpad’s cheek and stroked it softly. “You _ARE_ my scarf-wearing idiot, LP. I can’t wait to see you when I wake up…”

Launchpad’s brows were furrowing as he gazed down at what probably only seemed to him to be a very affectionate, very out of character, and perhaps _very high_ Negaduck. 

_Well, of course he can’t understand what’s going on,_ Drake thought _. He’s just a figment of my imagination. A distorted representation of the man I love._

There were two final sensations that Drake felt as he felt himself begin to disappear. The first was the rough burn of that stubble— _the unkempt scruff that his LP didn’t have_ —but the second was the feeling of those strong, wonderful arms clasped around him tight— _which were identical to the Real version of his beloved sidekick and lover_ —holding him tenderly, making him feel warm and safe.

He closed his eyes, and darkness enveloped him. But Drake was sure that it wouldn’t be for long. 

_He’d be home soon._


	6. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion.

Drake found himself in front of the mirror again, staring at his dusky reflection. It felt like days, maybe weeks, had passed. But it might have only been seconds. _How long had he been standing here?_

He looked haggard, his eyes red and swollen, like he’d been weeping. But… _why?_ His mind was swirling with images of some ruined version of St. Canard, a wrecked reflection of his house…and then he flushed when he recalled brief yet stark flashes of rough, blisteringly hot sex with someone who was his beloved Launchpad and who also somehow WASN’T. It made him feel strange, wistful. Because somehow, he was sure it hadn’t JUST been a dirty dream...

There had been something important about it. Something to do with his own, Real Launchpad. _Something he needed to tell him…?_

Drake’s stomach clenched and he felt an overwhelming sadness wash over him in waves, that receded before he could grasp what it was even about. His heart caught in his throat, and he suddenly knew why his eyes were so red from crying forgotten tears.

_He couldn’t remember._

He wracked his brain, trying to grasp at snippets of his erotic dream. There was pain, pleasure, the smell of cigarettes, the sinister flash of a knife…what had it meant? There was something there, more important than the sum of its parts…

But the more he tried to think about the importance of his dream, the more his mind erased it, like waves washing over fine details in the sand, until all he could think about was this knot of sadness roiling in his gut. 

Eventually the sick, anxious feeling ebbed to a low ache, and gazing at his dim silhouette staring back at him in the mirror, Drake did what he had to do:

He reluctantly let that feeling go. 

_It was all just a dream. Or some kind of screwed up reverie. It didn’t mean a thing._ He had to tell himself that because there was nothing else he could do about it. 

Over time, he went on about his daily life, putting the existence of the bizarre, mostly-forgotten dream at the back of his mind.

Everything was normal, or so he thought. Then, day by day, he started noticing these little things. No matter how much he cleaned, his house seemed dusty and somehow…old. Launchpad had started being a little curt with him. Rougher around the edges in how he spoke and acted. Not only that, the pilot seemed disheveled, somehow, but Drake couldn’t put his finger on how or why. Maybe he needed a haircut? Or a shave? 

Gosalyn seemed different, too. Quieter. More obedient, which was just odd. Lately, she kept trying out new outfits too, which to Drake’s surprise, included _dresses,_ of all things. _Huh,_ he thought to himself. _Must be a phase._

But after a while, Drake noticed that even St. Canard _itself_ seemed strange. The sky outside seemed grayer, and the air didn’t taste as crisp as he remembered. There was a general sense of foreboding, and like his dream, Drake couldn’t seem to do a thing about this, either.

_Meh, maybe he was just coming down with something. Maybe his whole damn family was._

One day, when he was doing laundry, he pulled one of his Darkwing masks out of the wash, and noticed it was discolored. In the dim light of the laundry room, it looked somehow darker than its original purple. Hell, it looked almost black. _Huh,_ he thought. _Must be a fuckin’ trick of the light._

He glanced down at his person. Like Launchpad recently, he seemed…weirdly disheveled and unkempt, no matter how much he groomed. Everything smelled off. _Maybe he really just needed to hole up in bed and try to get over this cold, or whatever the hell it was._

He snuggled into his bed later, and though the soft sheets should have comforted him, they somehow felt scratchy and awkward. He couldn’t relax. _Did he always like such a soft, silky bed?_

He kept glancing over at that damned mirror, which was glinting over in the corner of the room. Then something else caught his eye, a shimmer from the closet. 

_What the fuck?_

He didn’t keep anything shiny in there. All he kept in that closet was multiple copies of his superhero outfit. 

Curious, he slowly approached the closet door, and flung it open. 

And then he slumped to the ground in horror. Where he’d expected the familiar purples and teals, the light only reflected—

_Sharp, warning yellows and deep, blood-reds._

A thunderclap from outside sounded, and the promise of the chaos of the coming storm snapped him to a strange sort of clarity. 

He knew who he was. _Who he’d become._

Finally understanding, his horror turned to mirth. He laughed, his voice murky and deep.

_Ahh, so that’s what the fucking deal was. Might as well embrace it._ He smirked, his teeth razor-sharp.

Outside, the sky swirled darker and darker as the storm rapidly approached. 

The mirror glinted again, once, twice, and turned black.

\--

_Meanwhile, somewhere on Mt. Vesuvius..._

The cauldron bubbled, purple and yellow swirls of liquid oozing and swirling together in its depths. The colors combined, and then separated again, roiling and boiling, the cauldron rattling on an unnatural fire. Above, a raven-haired witch peered down, examined its contents, and smirked.

Those damned idiots. One, the yellow-clad, so-called leader of the Fearsome Five—Negaduck, or whatever he called himself. His real name was Drake Mallard. But wait, the _other_ idiot’s name was ALSO Drake Mallard, wasn’t it? He was the purple heroic one, who called himself ‘Darkwing,’ or some such nonsense, she thought. The purple one didn’t usually invoke her wrath, not when he was _purple,_ anyway. But this time, both had ended up crossing her. 

The little _thieves._

Of course, the yellow one was worse—when 'Drake Mallard' was yellow, he was _ALWAYS_ worse. She had seen him try to destroy her precious artifact—that HIS goons had stolen from her. And the purple one—well, he ended up a thief too, taking it from that stupid organization that had locked her up not so long ago, never dreaming he’d accidentally come into the possession of something belonging to a witch.

If it had just been the purple one, maybe she would have been merciful. Let him use her precious magical artifact to merely gaze at himself lovingly in its haunted depths until she was ready to take it back with force. He was just an idiot, after all. But she couldn’t forgive his yellow twin. Not _AGAIN._

For it was he, _that damnable yellow one,_ who always ended up crossing the witch—stealing from her, trying to swindle her, destroying her possessions, and EVEN worse, distracting her from her _true_ mission, that was worth a hell of a lot more than dealing with all of their nonsense, even if it was "only ten cents." For all his arrogance, this is what he— _and sadly, the purple one too_ —got for it.

After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d done it. It was probably the eleventh or twelfth, if she remembered correctly. On the other hand, who knew? Time wasn’t linear. Maybe it was the first again. But no matter, each time he crossed her, she’d made sure to punish him in the best way she knew how: mix up his life essence with that of his hated rival—his twin, that purple do-gooder from one of many parallel worlds, who sometimes, like this time, ended up slighting her too. The spell was sickeningly simple, it only required a couple of tail feathers to pull off, and the two fools would eventually switch places. _Permanently._

_Not only was it deliciously evil, it was fun too!_

They never ended up remembering that they’d switched, though, and one would become the other, over and over, their worlds following suit. In fact, the witch wasn’t even sure which one was the original 'Negaduck,' anymore, or which world was the “regular” St. Canard. Considering there were about five billion versions of St. Canard, her brief interference with swapping these two little worlds back and forth didn’t matter in the least. Even though these two worlds would eventually settle into their two separate halves again, it was fun to throw a little chaos into the mix. 

_Because who was more chaotic than a witch?_

She cackled over the cauldron, as it reset itself. She’d retrieve her stolen mirrors later, from both the little thieves once they’d come into themselves, so to speak. Maybe in dreams they saw an inkling of the truth of their destiny; the mirrors were said to have that kind of power. She'd used them herself time and again, but she had never been quite satisfied with the reflections she saw there. But no matter. Perhaps the twin mirrors could still come in handy again for her someday. Perhaps she could somehow use them to help her in her ultimate quest against the richest duck in the world, whose Number One Dime made him a fortune across not one, but multiple universes…

Her smirking face reflected in the now stilled liquid of the cauldron, one side a new purple and the other, a new yellow. _Yet another new beginning for them both._

Somehow the purple was never the same purple, though, and the yellow, too, never the same hue. With every reset of their worlds, the yellow seemed somehow more purple, and the purple seemed strangely more yellow. Like they were gravitating towards each other, or some fixed point between their two extremes. The good becoming more evil, and the evil becoming more good, perhaps. The inevitable being a boring sort of medium. 

You might say the process was a strange sense of _clarification,_ just as easily as you could call it outright _contamination._

_Redemption? Corruption? **Who cares.**_ This witch certainly didn’t.

“If only you’d remember, you silly duckies,” she murmured, her voice low and shadowy, her eyes sparkling, reflecting the all the glittering purples and golds. “No one _screws_ with Magica de Spell.”

But neither one of those fools would remember. But _she_ would, and someday, when they’d inevitably cross her again, she’d be ready to give the “good” and “evil” pair another brand-new, fresh start… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story. I'll make up for the less-than-ideal ending in another fic...but today, Magica got her revenge.


End file.
